i  954 


y.C-NRLF 


-4i 


TURNER'S  AMERICAN  STAGS. 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 


A  TRAGEDY,  IN  FIVE  ACTS: 


AS    PERFORMED    AT   THB 


THEATRE  ROYAL,  COVENT  GARDEN, 


JFvanttp  ^jxK  l^^mUto 


-^b^o«!^ 


PHILADELPHIA: 

W.  TURNER,  2^44,  RACE  STREET^ 

1*832^ 


DRAMATIS  PEKSON^, 
JPrancii  the  First,  King  of  France,  Mr.  J.  Mason. 

Laval,        ^  rMr.  G.  Bennett 

Lautrec,       I  r       i  xr  i.j  J  Mr.  Baker. 

Bonnivet,     }■  French  Noble..  -^  Mr.  Dmuset. 

Varennes,  J  l^Mr.  Sutton. 
Clement  Marot,  a  Poetj  Mr.  Abbot, 

Triboulct,  the  King*s  Jester,  Mr.  Keeley. 

Gonzales,  a  Monk,  Mr.  Warde. 

Nobles,  Pages,  Guards,  Heralds,  Soldiers,  &c. 


JLouisa  of 5^vby,  th^  Kins^^ Mother.  Miss  Fanny  Kerabl' 

Margaret  ctf  Viois,  her  Pufighter,  Miss  Taylor. 

Fran59ise  de  Foix,  Lauirec*s  lister,  MissE.  Tree, 

ykTise,  fcf.»»ittitiw^m,   ;   *       -    /  .  lyiissLee. 

.*-*;/     ''.Ladies  of  the -Court,. 


THE  TRAGEDY  O^ 

FRANCIS  THE  FIRST 

Has  been  pronounced  by  the  London  Quarterly 
Review,  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  works  of 
the  present  age,  and  the  arrival  of  Miss  Kemblb 
in  the  United  States,  renders  its  publication  pe- 
culiarly appropriate. 

:fanny  kemble. 

The  rising  hope  and  promise  of  the  drama — the  bud— th* 
blossom — the  half-blown  "rose  and  expectancy"  of  the  the- 
atrical world — the  pledge  to  the  rising  generation,  that,  in  their 
time,  at  least,  Juliet  shall  not  lie  buried  in  the  tomb  of  the 
Capulets,  or  Belvidera's  sorrows  be  entrusted  entirely  to  regu- 
larly broken  in,  thorough-paced,  tragedy  hacks.  I  am  well 
nigh  tired  of  the  mechanical  woes  and  shallow  agonies  of 
€very-day  tragedy — of  picturesque  and  passionless  attitudiniz- 
ing—of storms  of  grief,  according  to  the  stage  directions—^ 
''cross  to  R.  H.  and  burst  into  tears ;" — of  violent  beating  of 
the  cold  and  insensible  breast,  and  knocking  of  the  clenched 
hand  upon  the  empty  head.  I  am  tired  of  the  mere  pantomime 
of  the  art,  without  feeling  or  common  sense — tired  of  vehemence 
and  impetuosity,  instead  of  passion;  and  particularly  tired  of 
hearing  such  easy  work  characterised  as  the  "flashes  and  out- 
breakings  of  genius."  To  me,  gross  and  habitual  exaggeration 
seems  to  pei'vade  nearly  all  the  tragic  exhibitions  on  the  stage  ; 
and  if  this  be  so,  it  is  sufficient  evidence  of  the  absence  of 
feeling.  Genuine  feeling  never  exaggerates.  Those  wh» 
are  really  touched  by  the  parts  they  assume,  may,  from  that  very 
cause,  be  so  little  master  of  themselves  as  to  fail  in  giving  a  fi- 
nished portrait  of  the  chawicter  they  have  undertaken  to  repre- 
sent ;  but  they  never,  by  any  chance,  fall  into  the  opposite 
fault  of  "o'erstepping  the  modesty  of  nature,"  and  becoming 
more  violent  than  the  hero  or  heorine  of  the  scene  would  have 
.eeninrealit,.  JJ."^  OQ,|  C^.^ 


Now,  Miss  Kemble  does  not  exaggerate.  I  have  watched 
her  closely,  and  have  never,  according  to  my  notions  of  things, 
seen,  either  in  look,  voice,  or  action,  the  slightest  attempt  to  im- 
pose upon  the  audience  by  extravagance  to  extract,  as  it  were, 
their  sympathies  by  force,  and  storm  them  into  approvalt  She 
is  not  yet,  in  some  respects,  so  "e/Tective"  an  actress  as  others 
of  infinitely  less  ability — that  is,  she  does  not  so  well  understand 
how  to  produce  a  sensation  by  '^points"  and  "situations."  She 
has  yet  much  to  learn  and  something  to  unlearn ;  but  she  has 
that  within  her  which  cannot  be  taught,  though,  parrot-like,  it 
may  be  imitated — genuine  passion,  delicacy  and  feeling :  and 
all  that  IS  necessary  for  her  to  do  to  become  a  great  actress  is,  in 
acquiring  the  necessary  business  and  technicalties  of  the  stage, 
to  preserve  pure  andfundefiled  those  rare  qualities.  This  is  no 
easy  task.  Acting  is  an  art  in  which  the  noblest  results  have 
to  be  effected  by  the  most  unromantic  means.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  Miss  Kemble  will  become  a  great  actress,  and  that  the 
artificial  educfeition,  of  which  she  has  yet  much  to  receive,  will 
iiot  destroy  the  natural  beauty  and  freshness  of  her  mind.  At 
present  her  personations  are  rather  distinguished  by  feminine 
sweetness  and  delicacy  and  quick  and  violent  transitions  of 
passion,  than  by  sustained  force  and  grandeur ;  but  there  is 
something  occnsionly  in  the  tone  of  her  voice — in  her  dark 
expressive  eye  and  fine  forehead,  that  speaks  of  the  future 
Queen  Katherine  and  wife  of  Macbeth.  Her  Juliet,  with  some 
faults,  is  a  delightful,  affectionate,  warm-hearted  piece  of  acting; 
and  she  is  decidedly  the  least  mawkish  and  truly  loving  and 
loveable  Belvidera  I  have  ever  seen.  The  closing  scene  of 
madness,  where  others  fail,  is  her  greatest  triumph.  The  tones 
of  her  voice,  when  playfuiiy  threatening  Jaffi*  r,  might  almost 
touch  the  heart  of  a  money-scrivener.  She  is  the  only  Belvi- 
dera 1  have  beheld  play  this  scene  twice.  They  all  contrive  to 
make  it  either  excessively  repulsive  or  ludicrous,  and  somehow 
or  other  manage  to  bring  to  the  mind  a  very  vivid  picture  of 
Tilburina  in  the  Critic  ;  while  their  invariably  goiuj  home  in 
the  midst  of  their  distresses,  and  after  a  paiLial  touch  of  insanity, 
to  put  off  their  black  velvets,  and  put  on  their  white  muslins  to 
go  completely  mad  in,  because,  as  that  lady  says,  "it  is  a  rule,'* 
by  no  means  tends  to  do  away  with  tftis  unfortunate  association 
of  ideas.  Miss  Kemble  is  ai  present  the  sole  hope  of  the 
English  public  in  tragedy.  She  must  not  dissappoint  them, 
for,  if  she  does,  there  is  no  one  else  on  whom  they  ca»  turn 
ihcir  eyes. 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST- 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I.— A  COURT  OF  THE  LOUVRE. 

Enter  Vend6me  and  Chabannes,  meeting  the  Duke  of  Alengon. 

Ven.  Good  morrow  to  my  lordof  Alen9on  ! 
Alen.  Good  morrow,  noble  sir.     My  lord  Cha- 
bannes, 
You  are  right  welcome  back  to  court  again : 
I  pray  you,  Vend6me,  is  the  King  return'd 
From  tennis  yet  ? 

Ven,  My  lord,  as  T  pass'd  through 
h  e  gallery  I  saw  the  royal  train 
Dismount,  and  now  the  King  holds  private  con- 
verse 
With  the  Queen's  confessor  :  a  moment  since, 
I  saw  them  both  enter  the  Queen's  apartment, 
In  very  earnest  and  impassion'd  talk  ; 
And  as  I  think,  the  duke  de  Bourbon's  name 
Full  many  a  time  escaped  their  anxious  lips. 
Cha,  The  Queen's  confessor  ! — what !  old  Fa- 
ther Jor6rae? 
Alen,  Oh  no  !  old  Father  Jer6me,  rest  his  soul, 
Is  dead.  This  man  (between  ourselves  I  speak  it,) 
o   me,  seems  rather  a  mysterious  minister, 
And  secret  instrument,  than  a  confessor. 


Veh,'  Strange  t6  say,  he  is  a  Spaniard, 
And,  stranger  yet,  he  hath  not  been  at  court 
But  a  brief  space,  which  renders  his  estate 
(Being  so  trusted  by  the  Queen)  a  riddle, 
Whereat  we  guess  in  vain.     She  is  not  wont 
To  doff  her  wariness  on  slight  acquaintance; 
Yet  is  this  monk  for  ever  with  her ;  holding 
In  full  possession  her  most  secret  counsels. 

Cha,  To  me,  my  lords,  who  newly  am  returned 
To  court,  all  this  seems  passing  strange  indeed  ; 
With  greater  wonder,  though,  Vendome,  I  learn 
De  Bourbon  is  recall'd  from  Italy. 

Alen.  'Tis  not  the  absent  onl}^  are  amazed, 
You  do  but  share  the  wonder  of  the  town ; 
All  note  the  strange  event,  none  know  the  cause; 
And  we  have  yet  to  learn  what  fault  or  folly — 

Ven,  Your  pardon,  sir,  but  'tis  not  very  like 
That  the  young  hero,  who  at  Marignan 
Did  deeds  of  war  and  wisdom  so  combine, 
That  nothing  short  a  kingdom  could  reward 
His  merit,  now  should  fail  in  either  point — ■ 

Alen,  This  problem,  sir. 
Surpasses  my  poor  wit ;  and  all  I  know 
Is,  that  the  duke  is  coming  home  again ; 
And  that  an  eager  expectation  runs 
Before  his  path,  to  see  how  he  will  bear 
This  sudden  mandate,  and  how  be  received 
At  court. 

Cha.  Look,  here  comes  one  in  haste :  methinks^ 
That  should  be  my  old  friend  and  comrade, 
Triboulet. 

Enter  Triboulet. 

Tri,  Gentles,  beseech  ye  leave  me  passing  room< 
Most  worshipful  sir,  1  am  right  glad  to  see  you  I 
Cha,  That  is  a  joy  reciprocal. 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  j 

Good  fool^  how  hast  thou  fared,  since  last  we 
parted  ? 
Tri,  Indifferent  well,  my  lord ;  I  thank  ye, 
very  indifferent;  but  still  as  well  as  may  be, 
considering  tides  and  times,  and  things  as  they 
were,  and  things  as  they  are,  and  sundry  other 
things — heigh  ho  ! 

Cha,  What  I  melancholj^  eh !  poor  fellow? 
Iri,  Oh  !  sir,  very  melancholy.    I  should  think 
I  was  dying  in  right  earnest,  an  it  were  not — 
Alen,  That  he  eats  like  a  pig,  and  sleeps  like 

a  dormouse. 
Tri.  Sir,  your  comparisons  are  very  beastly, 
and  that's  the  best  that  can  be  said  of  them. 
Alen,  The  best  is  bad,  and  far  from  civil  then. 
TrL  The  farther  from  civil,  the  nearer  to  your 

speech, 
Cha.  There,  never  anger  thee  at  truth,  good 
fool:— 
*  But  tell  me  where  that  foul  fiend  Melancholy 
Hath  driven  the  damask  of  thy  rosy  cheeks  ? 

Ven.  Marry,  it  needs  no  search — into  his  nose; 
Which  juts  from  out  the  mainland  of  his  face. 
Like  some  peak'd  promontory,  on  whose  verge 
The  beacon  light  its  warning  blaze  advances. 
Alen.  Well,  but  what  makes  thee  sad? 
TrL  Een  that  which  makes  you  glad. 
Alen,  And  what  is  that,  sir  fool  ? 
Tri.  The  Lord  High  Constable's  return,  sir 
duke.     (D'Alen^on  turns  on  his  heel  and 
walks  up  the  stage  with  Vend6n)e.) 
Cha.  My  lord  of  i^len9on,  you  have  your  an- 
swer;— 
And  why  doth  that  affect  thee  ? 
Tri.  Why,  sir,  thus ; 


ft  FRANCK^THE  FIRST. 

The  duke  de  Bourbon  is  a  worthy  gentleman, 
Fine  fighter,  wise  statesman,  and  great  fool — 

Cha,  How  now,  sir  Triboulet,  a  fool ! — a  mad  ^ 
who  gives 
His  blood — 

Tru  To  the  earth. 

Cha.  And  his  counsel — 

Tri.  To  the  air. 

Cha,  For  his  country — 

TrL  No,  for  that  (snaps  his  fingers;)  why  how 
ye  stare,  is  it  not  so? — And  doth  not  the  event 
prove  that  he  was  a  fool  ? 

Cha,  (aside)  O  wisdom  !  thou  hast  kissed  the 
lips  of  idiots, 
And  gemm'd  the  motley  with  thy  precious  pearls ! 
(Alen^on  and  Vend 6 me  appear  to  he  observing 
some  one  in  the  distance — they  come  foitvard. ) 

Alen,  Oh  yes, 'tis  he!  now  by  this  living  light> 
There  is  no  nauseous  reptile  crawls  the  earth 
That  I  so  loathe  as  this  same  Bonnivet ! 

Cha.  J  s  that  De  Bonnivet,  that  plumed  thing ! 
So  sparkling  and  so  brave  in  his  attire. 
Who  treads  disdainfully  the  upholding  earth? 

Tri.  Oh,  that  he  hath  done  long  on  all  his  up- 
holders. 

Cha.  Is  that  the  brother  of  King  Francis' tutor^ 
Whom  I  remember  well  a  page  at  court? 

Alen.  Sir,  he  is  now  the  King's  prime  minister. 

Cha.  Sir  ? — tut — impossible  ! 

Tri.  He  means  the  Queen's  prime  minister. 

Ven,  VVhy,   aye,  that's   something  nearer  to 
the  mark. 

Enter  De  Bonnivet — he  hows  haughtily  to  them — 
they  return  his  salute  in  the  same  manner, 
Tri,  {staring  in  his  face)  He  hath  a  very  bright 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  § 

eye,  and  a  very  high  brow,  and  very  handsome 
teeth — (  While  he  says  this,  De  Bonnivet  threaten^ 
ingly  obliges  him  to  retreat  step  by  step  until  he 
gets  hehind  Vendome,  ivhen  he  adds^) — By  rea- 
son of  all  which  no  woman  need  miscarry  that 
looks  at  him. 

De  Bon.  (Aiming  a  blow  at  Tviboulet  with  Ms 
glove)    Hold  thy  fool's  tongue  ! 

7>i.  (Showing  himself  from  behimd  A\^w<^ox\) 
That  we  may  listen  to  thine?  Now,  for  anght  I 
know,  thou  may'st  be  the  more  learned  of  the 
two,  seeing  thy  brother  was  pedagogue — (De 
Bonnivet  draws  his  sword,  and  rushes  upon  Tri- 
boulet — Vendome  and  Chabannes  hold  him  backi 
D'i^Iengon  places  himself  before  Triboulet. 

Ven,  For  manhood,  sir,  put  up  your  sword :  he 
knows  not  what  he  says. 

Cha,  He  is  a  fool !  an  idiot ! 

Tri,  The  King's  fool,  sir,  the  King's  fool,  and 
no  idiot ! 

Bon.  King's  fool  or  not,  he  shall  notfool't  with 
me. 
Or,  by  the  Lord  !  I'll  make  him  find  his  brains. 

Tri.  Sir,  if  you  knock  them  out,  I  bequeath 
them  to  you ;     You're  poor  in  such  eommoduies. 

Bon.  Unhand  me ! — 

Enter  Margaret  de  VsAols,  followed  by  Clement. 

3Iar.  How  now,  what  coil  is  here  I  my  l<>rds 
I  thought  not 
To  meet  foul  discord  in  such  company. 
Gentlemen,  if  a  lady's  voice  hath  power 
To  win  your  hands  from  their  ungentle  purpose, 
Pray  you  put  up  your  swords — W  hy  so,  1  thank  ye. 


10  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

And  now,  what  may  1  ask,  in  this  assembly 
Was  cause  of  such  affray  ? 
TrL  My  wit,  sweet  mistress. 
Mar.  Truly  such  oiigin  doth  honor  to  your 

quarrel. 
And  if  whole  nations  fought  for  ten  long  years 
For  no  more  cause  than  a  light  woman's  love, 
We  well  may  pardon,  nay  approve,  four  heroes 
Who  fall  to  figliting  on  a  jester's  words. 

Alen,  Madam,  your  words  are  sharp,  and  came 

they  not 
From  lips,  where  soft  sweet  smiles  have  mad^ 

their  home, 
They  would,  indeed,  be  terrible  :  but  now, 
We  even  bless  reproachful  oracles 
That  breathe  from  such  a  shrine. 

TrL  (aside  to  kim)     Oh,  excellent! 
Where  didst  thou  con  that  dainty  speech,  I  pray 

thee  ?  (Alen 9on  pushes  him  angrily  away — 

Margaret  bows  to  Vend6me,  and  extends 

her  hand  to  Chabannes.) 
Mar,  Most  worthy  sir,  you're  welcome  back 

again 
To  our  fair  court. 

Cha.  Lady,  can  you  rejoice 
To  see  grey  hairs  come  bowing  in  your  train  ? 
Doth  spring  cry  welcome  to  the  hoary  winter  ? 

3Iar.  Oh,  sir,  your  winter  so  hath  crowu'd  itself 
With  bays  and  laurels — glorious  evergreens, 
Still  smiling  in  the  sunshine  of  fair  fame, 
That  'tis  butlii<e  a  second,  longer  spring; 
Born  of  the  growth  of  years,  destin'd  to  fiourish 
As  bright  and  fresh  fur  ever. 
But  say,  Chabannes, 
AVill  not  the  tournay  that  my  brother  holds 


TRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  11 

To  day,  in  honor  of  the  Duke's  return, 
Be  favored  by  your  presence  ? 

Cha,  Gracious  Madam, 
We  all  intend,  as  I  believe  to  bethere, 
I  to  look  on,  and^criticise  as  age  ^ 

Ever  yf\\\  do,  drawing  comparisons,  ^ 

Twixt  thatwhich  is,  and  that  which  has  been  once. 

Mar,  Envious  comparisons!  say,  are  they  not? 
Surely  the  world  alters  not  every  day, 
That  they  who  play'd  their  parts  but  some  score 

years 
Gone  by,  should  cry  out,  *  How  the  times  are  al- 
tered?*— 
I  do  appeal  to  thy  philosophy. 
Say,  is  it  so,  Chabannes  ? 

Cha,  In  sober  truth,  then,  in  philosophy. 
Since  thus  your  Grace  commands,  I  do  believe 
That  at  our  feet  the  tide  of  time  flows  on 
In  strong  and  rapid  course;  nor  is  one  current 
Or  rippling  eddy  liker  to  the  rest, 
Than  is  one  age  unto  its  predecessor: 
IVIen  still  are  men,  the  stream  is  still  a  stream. 
Through  every  change  of  changeful  tide  and  time; 
And  'tis,  1  fear,  only  our  partial  eye 
That  lends  a  brighter  sunbeam  to  the  wave 
On  which  we  launched  our  own  adventurous  bark. 

Mar.  Oh  fair  confession  !    Come  thou  with  me, 
sir  fool, 
I've  business  for  thee  in  the  banquet  hall : 
You,  gentlemen,  farewell,  until  the  tournay ; 
'Till  then,  all  good  attend  you,  and  I  pray 
Keep  the  king's  peace,  an  it  be  possible, 

[Exeunt  Margaret,  Clement,  and  Triboulei 
on  one  side — the  rest  on  the  other. 


\t  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

SCENE  II.— THE  QUEEN  MOTHER'S  APARTMENT. 

JTie  Queen  enfcis  precipitately. 

Queen.  So — I  am  glad  Gonzales  is  not  here; 
I  would  not  even  he  should  see  me  thus. — 
!Now  out  upon  this  beating  heart,  these  temples. 
That  throb  and  bum  so. — I  must  remember  me. — 
Mother  of  France,  and  well  nigh  Queen  of  it, 
I'll  even  bear  my  love  as  royally, 
As  1  have  borne  my  pow'r — the  time  is  near. 
Oh  very  near,  when  he  will  kneel  again 
Before  my  feet; — the  conqueror  to  the  conquer'd!- 
I  am  asham'd  of  this  ill-timed  relapse, — 
This  soft  unnerving  power  which  thus  enthrals 
me. — 

Enter  Gonzales. 
Thou  are  right  welcome,  by  my  word,  Gonzales! 
"Where  be  those  parchments? 
Gon.  Noble  madam,  here. 
Queen,   Hast  thou  drawn  out  the  plan  of  the 

possessions  ? 
Gon,  So  please  your  grace,  I  have : — Pardon 
me,  madam, 
I  fear  you  are  not  well ;    your  cheek  is  pale, 
And  your  lip  quivers — is  your  highness  ill  ? 
Queeii.  Hush  !  *twa8  a  trumpet,  was  it  not? — 
and  now — 
Surely  it  is  the  tramp  of  horses'  hoofs 
That  beat  the  ground  thus  hurriedly  and  loud; — 
I  pray  thee,  father,  throw  the  casement  wide — 
The  air  is  stifling.     (Throws  herself  into  a  chair,) 

Gon,  I  never  saw  you  thus  overcome  before  : 
You  tremhlcy  madam. 


FRANCIS  THE  KIB^t.  13 

Queen,  (rmng)  Do  I  so»  indeed  ? 
I  thank  thee  for  that  word — it  hath  revived  Jtie : 
I'm  very  well — I  do  not  trenable  now  ; — 
It  hath  a  wondrous  virtue !     Pray  thee,  father,         M 
What  think  the  people  of  Bourbon's  return  ?  M 

Gon.  Madam,  the  summer  clouds  m 

That  flit  across  the  heav'ns  are  not  more  various, 
More, strange,  and  different  in  shape  and  colour, 
Than  are  th'  opinions  born  from  his  recall. 

Queen,  But  thou^— but  thou — 
Accustomed  as  thou  art  to  thread  the  mazes 
Of  dark  intriguing  policy — how  think'st  thoif,^ 
Gon,  Accustom'd,   as   your  tighness   should 
have  said, 
To  read  the  will  and  wisdom  bf  your  eyes. 
And  watch,  for  your  commands,  each  meaning 

look, 
If  I  might  say  it— ^madam — I  should  think 
That  much  indeed  lay  in  this  mystery; 
For  your  eye  speaks  strange  things. 

Queen,  How  sayest  thou — 
This  hand  is  passing  fair,  is't  not,  Gonzales  ? 
Gon.  Madam  !^-'tis  not  for  me  to  estimate 
The  hand  that   kings  have  priz'd  above   their 
kingdom. 
Queen,  Psha  !  fool !    Oh,  rather  say  the  hand 
that  held 
The  sovereign  rule  over  their  kingdoms.     Now, 
Mark  me  attentively.     This  woman's  hand. 
That  but  this  moment  trembled  with  alarm, — 
This  fair  frail  hand  hath  firmly  held  the  reins 
Of  this  vast  empire  for  full  many  a  year: 
This  hand  hath  given  peace  and  war  to  Europe,— « 
This  hand  hath  plac'd  my  son  upon  his  throne, — 
This  hand  hath  held  him  there, — this  hand  it  \v^a« 
TV.oic;^»>^  ♦Ko  warrant  for  Bourbon's  tecall. 


14  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

Gon,  Amazement! 

Queen,  Ay  !  this  woman's  haad,  led  by  a  wo- 
man's heart. 
Now  hear  me,  thou ;  for  to  thy  secrecy 
I  will  confide  what  none,  save  only  thee. 
Have  known — must  know.     Note  well  the  latter 

word! 
It  is  because  I  love  the  Duke  de  Bourbon 
That  1  have  called  him  from  his  government. 
To  lift  him  to  the  dizziest  height  of  powV 
This  hand  can  grant,  or  kingdom  can  confer. 

Gon.  And  will  you  tell  him  of  your  love? 

Queen,  I  will. 
Nay,  answer  not, — I  have  resolved  on  it, — 
Thou  wouldst  but  waste  thy  words,  and  anger  me. 
I  never  yet  knew  friend  nor  minister 
But  they  were  ever  readier  to  advise 
Than  act. 

Crow.  Now,  madam,  by  the  holy  mass 
You  shall  not  find  it  so.     I've  not  forget 
My  fa^^e  and  honours  where  bestowed  by  you ; 
And  rather  take  them  back, — nay,  life  itself, — 
Than  taunt  me  with  uitwillingness  to  serve  you. 

Queen,  Why,/so  !  1  did  but  jest.     In  sooth, 
Gonzales, 
I  know  thou  art  as  good,  in  a  bad  way. 
As  any  faithful  son  of  the  Holy  Church 
Need  be. 

Gon,  But  does  the  King — 

Queen,  Out,  bungler  !  out ! 
The  King  was  very  dutiful,  and  well 
Believ'd  what  I  so  strenuously  assur'd. 
I  told  him  that  the  duke  de  Bourbon's  power 
Was  growing  strongly  in  the  Milanese; 
Urged  his  return ;  and  show'd  him  how,  when 
distant. 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  15 

The  high  ambition  of  the  Bourbon's  mind 
Was  far  less  checked  than  here,  beneath  the 

shadow 
Of  the  throne,  and  so  he  was  recalled — 
[Trumpets  without— shouts  of  "De  BourboN !  *' 
And  now  he  is  arriv'd — hark  how  the  trumpets 
Bray  themselves  hoarse  with  sounding  welcome 

to  him! 
Oh,  could  I  join  my  voice  to  yonder  cry. 
By  heav'ns  1  think  its  tones  would  rend  the  welkin 
With  repetition  of  the  hero's  name !  [exit, 

Gon.  In  love  with  Bourbon !  By  this  living  light 
My  mission  here  is  well  nigh  bootless,  then. 
Now  might  I  back  to  Spain,  since  Charles'  objects 
Are  all  defeated  by  this  woman's  passion, 
Were  there  not  yet  another  task,  the  dearest. 
The  labor  that  is  life — mine  own  revenge! 
Lie  still,  thou  thirsty  spirit,  that  within 
Call'st  for  the  blood  that  shall  allay  thy  craving  I 
Down,  down  with  thee,  until  the  hour  be  come 
When  I  can  fling  this  monkish  treachery  by, 
Rush  on  my  prey,  and  let  my  souFs  hot  flame 
Liek  up  his  blood,  and  quench  it  in  his  life! 
Time,  and  the  all-enduring  soul,  that  never 
Shrinks  from  the  trial,  be  ray  speed  !  and  nought 
My  hope,  my  spur,  my  instrument,  my  tnd. 
Save  hate — eternal  hate — immeasurable  hate ! 

[exit. 


SCENE  m.—PRINCESS   MARGARET'S   CHAMBER, 
Enter  Margaret  and  Triboulet. 

Mar.  It  is  the  hour  of  tournay.     Triboulet, 
Go  thou  unto  the  Queen,  and  tell  her  grace. 


16  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST; 

That  if  it  please  her,  1*11  attend  her  thither. 

[exit  Triboulet. 
He  is  returned  I  he  will  be  there !  and  yet 
Though  meeting,  after  long  eventful  absence, — • 
We  shall  not  in  our  meeting  be  half  blest : 
A  dizzy,  whirling  throng  will  be  around  us. 
'Mid  whose  loud  jar  the  still  small  voice  of  love^ 
Whose  accents  breathe  their  soft  enchantment 

best 
In  whisper'd  sighs,  or  but  half-whisper'd  words. 
Will  die  unheard.     Oh  that  we  thus  should  meet  I 
But,  then,  there  is  love's  eye  to  flash  his  thought 
Into  a  language,  whose  rich  eloquence 
Beggars  all  voice;  our  eyes  at  least  may  meet, 
And  change,  like  messengers,  the  loving  freight 
That  either  heart  sends  foith. 

Enter  Clement  Marot. 

Cle,  So  t^lease  you,  madam. 
The  Queen  hath  bid  me  say  that  she  will  not 
Grace  with  her  sight  the  tournament  to-day  j 
And  as  J  came  from  her  apartment  hither, 
I  met  the  King,  who  bade  me  bear  you  word 
He  cannot  yet  unto  the  lists,  but  you, 
And  your  fair  train,  had  bestride  quickly  there, 
And  let  the  tilt  commence;  he  will  not  tarry. 
But  join  ye  ere  the  first  three  blows  are  struck. 

[exit  Clement. 

Mar.  'Tis  well,  I  will  obey. —  Tis  very  strange 
How  much  I  fear  my  mother  should  perceive 
De  Bourbon's  love  for  me — I  know  not  why — 
1  dare  not  tell  it  her, — she  is  a  fearful  spirit. 
And  stands  so*  proudly  over  all  her  sex, 
She  surely  ne'er  hath  known  what  'tis  to  love. 

[exit. 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRSl'.  n 

SCENE  1V.--THE  LISTS. 
Enter  Lautrec  and  Laval  meeting, 

Lau,  Well  met  by  this  good  light,  Laval ;  will 
not 
The  Queen  attend  this  tournament  to  day  ? 

Lav.  No  sir,  she's  closeted  with  his  grim  holi- 
ness. 

Lau.  That  Spanish  monk? 

Lav,  The  walking  mystery. 
That  man,  to  my  mmd,  hath  a  villainous  look! 
I  never  met  his  eyes  but  they  were  glaring 
Like  some  hyaena's,  or  the  devil's  own. 
Once  1  remember  that  the  Queen  had  sent 
Me  on  some  mission  to  this  confessor, — 
By  chance,  the  Princess  Margaret,  by  whose  side 
He  stood,  let  fall  a  jewel  from  her  finger; 
Both  stoop'd  ;  and  as  we  bent,  our  hands  encoun- 
tered— 
He  started  back  as  though  a  serpent  stung  him; — 
By'r  Lady,  but  I  would  not  be  the  man 
To  wrong  that  surly  monk — is  it  not  strange, 
That  when  I  gaze  on  him,  it  seems  as  though 
1  knew  him,  and  had  seen  him  oft  before? 

Lau.  Nay,  in  thy  dreams  it  must  have  been, 
Laval ; 
But  leave  this  theme,  and  tell  me  what  it  is 
Thou  would'st  with  me  ? 

Lav.  This  is  no  fitting  place 
To  speak  what  I  would  say  at  greater  length, 
But  love  prom  pts  me  (once  more)  to  urge  my  suit— - 
My  unanswer'd  suit. 

Lau,  Once  more  I  tell  thee,  then, 
My  sister  shall  be  thine,  I  have  said  it.-~Alen90tti 


18  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

Enter  Alen^on. 

Lav,  Thou'st  tarried  long  at  tennis^ 
Alen,  Why,  the  King 
Still  loiter'd  on  with  racket  in  his  hand, 
And  Bonnivet,  vaunting  their  mutual  prowess. 
Lau,  'Tis  much  pnst  noon. 
— —   Alert.  He  will  be  here  anon, 
I  For  as  I  rode,  I  pass'd  him  with  his  train ; 
The  gathering  crowd  thronging  and  clamouring 
Around  him,  stunning  him  with  benedictions. 
And  stifling  him  with  love  and  fumes  of  garlick ! 
He,  with  the  air  he  knows  so  well  to  don, 
With  cap  in  hand,  and  his  thick  chesnut  hair 
Fan n'd  from  his  forehead,  bowing  to  his  saddle. 
Smiling  and  nodding,  cursing  at  them  too 
For  hindering  his  progress — while  his  eye, 
His  eagle  eye,  well  vers'd  in  such  discernment,^ 
Kov'd  through  the  crowd ;  and  ever  lighted,  where 
Some  pretty  ancle,  clad  in  woollen  hose, 
Peep'd  from  beneath  a  short  round  petticoat; 
Or  where  some  wealthy  burgher's  buxom  dame 
Deck'd  out  in  all  her  high-day  splendour,  stood 
Shewing  her  gossips  the  gold  chain^  which  lay 
Cradled  upon  a  bosomj^whiter  far 
Than  the  pure  lawn  fliat  kerchieft  it. 
Now  is  not  the  joust  begun? — his  Majesty — 

Lau,  Nay,  it  began  when  first  his  order  reach'd 
us  ; 
Already  haih  one  combat  been  decided 
'Twixt  Jouy  and  De  Varennes;  wilt  thou,  Laval, 
Try  fortune  in  the  lists? 

Lav.  Oh,  not  to-day, — 
Not  before  her,  beneath  whose  eyes  defeat 
Were  worse  than  death, — no,  not  to-day. 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  10 

Lau.  Nay,  then,  De  Varennes  shall  not  loiter 
there 
^Lono^er  in  proud  expectance  of  a  rival, — 
I  will  encounter  him.     Herald  !  what  ho  ! 
There  is  my  gauntlet — bear  to  De  Varennes 
A  fair  defiance  !     Bid  my  page  lead  round 
My  charger,  let  your  trumpets  sound  a  blast. 
And  raise  the  escutcheon  of  our  ancient  house. 

[Exit  into  the  Lists* 
(Shouts  and  acclamations  without,  and  trumpetsA 

Enter  Francis,  Chabannes,  Vend6me,  Bonniyety 
Clement,  Marot,  Triboulet,  and  Courtiers. 

Omnes,  Long  live  the  King!     Long  live  great 
Francis ! 

Fran,  Now  are  we  heartily  ashamed  to  think 
That  we  have  robb'd  our  excellent  good  people 
Of  any  portion  of  the  day's  rejoicing  ; — 
We  fear  weVe  somewhat  past  th'  appointed timts 

Tri,  An  hour  or  so,  not  more. 

Fran.    Curse  on  that  ceaseless  clock thy 

tongue  ! 

Tri,  It  goes  right,  though,  for  once. 

Fran,  If  we  have  caus'd  the  joust  to  be  retarded^ 
Our  faithful  subjects  will  forgive  th'  offence 
In  favour  of  the  cause — their  own  dear  interests 
Having  withheld  us  in  deep  council  from 
Their  well  beloved  presence,  which  to  us 
Is  like  the  sunshine  of  a  summer's  day-~ 
We  were  detained  by  weighty  matters. 

Tri.  Ay, 
A  tennis-ball,  was't  not  ?    There,  nevar  frown^ 
I'll  spare  thee — I'll  be  silent. 

Fran.  On  with  the  combats ! 
3 


80  '■  FRANCIS  THE  HRST. 

€habann^s>  'tis  long  since  such  a  joust  has  been 
Bonour'd  by  your  good  presence. 

Cha.  True,  my  liege. 
But  sec  !  ihe  grates  unclose«i — Lautrec  is  conqueror. 
[ShovU  and  trumpets.     Fran 90! se  de  Foix  rij«, 

leans  fotwtird  uiiik  every  rhark  of  intense  intereit, 

Fran;  Be  Bonnivet,  who  is  yon  lady  ?  look-**' 
In  front  of  the  Princess's  balcony?  ** 

Is  sh^  not  passing  fair  ? 

Bo7tw.  Indeed,  my  liege, 
She's  very  fair.     I  do  not  know  her,  though. 
(7b  i-ay^i)     Who  is  yon  lady,  leaning  forth'; 
Lavat?' 

iov.  C<>unt  tautree's  sister.       ^  . 

Fran,  Had  a  limner's  hand         .,;..    ^: 
Traced  such  a  heavenly  brow,  and  snch^  lip,  " 
I  wotild  have  »w^rn  the  knave  had  dreamt  it  aU  "^ 
In  some  fair  vision  of  some  fairer  world,  ' 

See  h6\V  she  »ta|ids,  all-shrined  in  loveliness; 
Her  white  hands   clasped  ;   her  clust'ring  locks 

i"^-    thro\^n  back 
From  her  high  forehead  ;  and  in  those  bright  eyes 
Tears  !  radiant  emanations  !  drops  of  light ! 
That  fall  from  those  surpassing  orbs  as  though 
The  starry  eyes  of  heav'n  wept  silver  dew.  ^ 

(  To  Laval)  1  s  yonder  lady  married,  sir  ? 

Lav.  My  liege,  i  ^ 

Not  yet ;  but  her  hand  is  bound  in  promise — 
She  is  affianced. 

Fran,  And  to  whom? 

Lav.  To  me,  sire. 

/(ran.  indeed!  (Aside  to  Bonnivti,) 

Methinks  I  was  too  passionate  in  my^praise»»  1 
£h  ?  Bonnivet — andyet  how  fair  she  is !      -  - 1 

[Trumpet9  and  9h(mi$P 


rRANGIS  THE  FIHST.  tl 

Enter  h^utxeCf  from  the  List$, 

Bon.  The  time  is  wfell.n.igti  spept. 
And  yet  no  stir  of  arms  ia.  token  yet 
Of  any  other  knight,  whose  eaviQU$  prpwesst  t 
Disputes  the  prize  whi^h  I^Mtrec  else^raayvclaim. 

Fmu.  Let  hiui  not  claim  it^  though^  f^ri 'tis  not 
his;.,.,..,-.,,...:     ,.,.i      ..         ,  .  >      .-.^ 
And,  by  this  light,  shall  not  be  his,  while  J 
Can  strike  one  blow  forit,  r  Behold,  Cc»int  )^utreC| 
Another,  combataflt  awaits  thee,  he^re  ! — ■  \    . 
Another  biiJ^  thee. halt -on  triumph's  tbre^o^l^,. 
And  strive  once  more  for  victory^     ;\Vha)ii  ho! 
Uflfwrl  our  rn^yal  standard  to  the  .w.iod,        v 
And  let;  our  flearde  lys,  that  oft  have  shadi9^'d 
The  blpody.bi^ttle  iield,  bloom  o'er  the  tournay. 

/,0M.  .The  Kiiig!  I  yield! 

j?V««,s.Not  j»o,  sir,  .if  you  please ;. 
We'd  s^hew  that  we  cao  run  a  lance  a&  w^llij 
As  any  other  gentleman  :  come  on  ! 

[Exeunt  Lautrecawcf /Ac  King. 

Fran,  How  bravely  does  war's  plumed  majesty 
Become  him,  as  he  vaults  upon  his  steed  ! 
Hhs^ciismon  crest  waving  upon  the  air 
liike  Victory's  ruddy  favours  !  on  they  go- 
Now  quakes  the  earth  beneath  their  chargers* 

hoofs,    '  T  : 

That  whirl  around,  taking  their  Vantage  space ; 
Kow  eaqh  fierce  steed  bends  on  his  haunches  down , 
Ready  to  rush  his  headlong  c()urse;  eacii  knight 
Spriiig^  fr<ym  his  seat,  and  rising  in  the  istirrups^ 
Directs  his  rested  lancet  on^  oil,  they  go;* 
Flashing  and  thund'ringl     Ah!  the  King's  uii« 

hbrsedy  '^      '^  ^ 

lShout9  within  ike  lAati'-^^Long  live  the  MingT 


n  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

Enter  Bonnivet  aiid  others. 

Bon,  Madam,  your  loyal  fears  outran  your  eyes  t 
Count  Lautrec  fell,  but  he  received  no  hurt; 
The  Kin^f  is  conqu(  ror  ! 

Tri.  Ay,  so  1  thought; 
Fortune's  a  true  courtier. 

C/e.  Now  out  on  thee,  ummannerly — 

Iri,  I  meant  to  say  courtiers  are — 

Lav,  How  now,  jackanapes? 

Tri,  Well,  well,  what  I  meant  to  say' is,  that 
I  never  yet  saw  King  worsted  in  fight. 

JBon.  Surely  not  because — 

Tri.  Umph  !   because  broken  pates  are  better 
than  broken  fortunes,  and  ye  know  it  full  well  ! 

[Enter  Francis,  joUowed  by  Lautrec,  Heralds^ 
PageUp  and  Esquires  i  Margaret,  Fran9oise,  and 
Ladies,  descend  and  advance;  the  King  kneels  to 
Margaret,  who  throvjs  a  gold  chain  round  his  neck. 

END   OF  ACT   I. 

^^.^ 

ACT    II. 

SCENE  I.- AN  APARTMENT  OF  THE  PRINCESS 
MARGARET. 

Enter  De  "Bowihovi,  followed  by  Margaret. 

Bour.  A  plague  upon  their  tournaments,  I  say. 

JUar.  Nay  then,  De  Bourbon,  by  my  woman's 
word 
This  must  not  be ;  oh,  say  it  sh;\Il  not  be ! 
8ay  thou  wilt  rein  this  hot,  impatient  mood. 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST,  18 

For  thy  own  sake no,  for  mine,  form  in  e,  I 

meant : 
i\re  we  not  twined  together  in  our  love? 
What  wonder  then,  it  speaking  of  myself, 
Thy  name  was  on  my  lips? — for  my  sake,  Bourbon! 

Bour.  If  thou  wilt  bid  me  journey  to  the  moon 
Upon  a  moth's  wing,  or  wilt  send  me  forth, 
Belted    and    spurred,    to   fight    some    score   of 

devils, — 
Or  worse,  wilt  bid  me  with  some  twenty  men 
Turn  out  Colonna  from  the  Milanese, 
Say  so  ;  and  by  this  light  I'll  do  it  too ! 
But  to  submit  to  this, — to  bear  all  this,— 
To  let  a  woman  tear  my  laurels  off, — 
And  trample  them, — Hell !  when  I  think  on  it  I 
Pshaw !  never  fix  those  dangerous  eyes  on  me 
And  clasp  thy  hands — I  say — 

3Jar,  She  is  my  mother  ! 

Bour,  I'faith  I've  often  doubted  of  that  truth; 
Thou  art  not  like  her,  for  the  which  thank  heaven  I 

Mar.  I  can  be  like  her  though,  my  lord, in  this; 
Not  to  endure  the  license  of  your  tongue. 
If  headlong  passion  urge  you,  sir,  beyond 
The  bounds  of  prudence,  look  that  you  control  it, 
Nor  vent  bold  thoughts  in   bolder  words  to  me; 
Else  you  may  chance  to  find — 

Bour,  She  is  thy  mother ; 
Nay,  smooth  that  brow,  thou  art  too  like  the 

Queen  ; 
And  in  those  soft  blue  eyes,  whose  orbs  reflect 
Heaven's  light  with  heaven's  own  purity,  let  not 
The  stormy  gleam  of  anger  e'er  flash  forth  ! 
I  had  thought,  Margaret,  that  love  forgot 
All  ranks  and  all  distinctions? 

Mar.  Ay,  so  it  doth— 


14  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

All  ties,  the  world ,  its  wealth,  its  fame,  or  fortune, 
Can  entwine  ;  but  never  those  ot  nature. 
So  mine  can  give  up  all,  save  the  first  bond 
My  heart  e'er  knew, — ilie  love  ot  those  who  ^ave 
Lite,  and  the  power  to  love; — those  early  links 
Lie  wreathed  like  close-knit  fibres  round  my  heart, 
Never  to  sever  thence  till  my  heart  break. 

hour.  Lo  at  thy  feet  I  sue  tor  pardon,  sweet  I 
By  thine  own  purity,   thou  virgm  lily  ! 
Thou  flower  of  fiance  1    forgive  the  word  that 

broke 
Too  hastily  k^im  my  rash  lips;  which,  thus. 
Having  offended,  will  do  penance  now 
Upon  this  marble  shiine,  my  h.dy  love. 

[kisses  her  hand. 

Mar.  A  goodly  penitent!   Nay,  never  kneel, 
And  look  so  pililul, — there,  !  forgive  thee. 
But,  Bourbon,  by  the  taith  ot  our  sworn  love, 
1  di»  implore  thee  to  bear  with  my  mother. 

Bout.    Pshaw  ! — 

Mar.  Why  look  now,  there's  your  brow  dark 
and  contracted; — 
I  see  the  pas^sion  flashing  in  your  eyes; 
You  will  /to/  think  of  me,  and  bear  with  her? 

Bour.  It' I  could  think  ot  thee,  and  not  see  her — 

Or  think  of  thee,  and  not  hear  her,  why,  then 

Well,  patience,  and  kind  thoughts  of  thee  befriend 

me! 
And  I  will  do  my  best  to  second  them. 

Mar,  Go  you  to  meet  my  mother  now? 

Bour.  This  hour 
Love  stole  from  duty  to  bestow  on  thee; 
And  now  1  must  attend  upon  the  Queen* 

Mar,  See  you  observe  my  lessou* 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  ^ 

hour.  Fear  me  not ; 
Oh  !   I'll  be  wonderfully  calm  and  patient. 

3Jar.  (aside.)   Meth inks  I'll  try  thee,     (aloud.) 
—  How  it  she  should  ask 
Some  question  of  your  late  left  government? 
I  see  you're  very  calm  already!      Bow 
If  she  should  spenk  of  a  fit  successor'' 
Mo^t  patient !      Lautrec  now,  or  B(>nnivet  ? 

Bour.  Confusion  light  upon  thee  !    iionnivet  ? 
And  Lautrec?    beardless  boys!    whose  maiden 

swords 
Pave  not  yet  blush'd  with  one  red  drop  of  blood  ; 
V^  hose  only  march  hath  been  a  midnight  measure. 
Whose  only  field  hatir  been  a  midnigl»t  masque  ; 
Is  it  for  these,  and  their  advancement,  I 
Have  watch'd,  have  toil'd,  have  fought,  have  bled, 

have  conquer'd  ; 
Rush'd  over  fields,  strewed  w^ith  the  dead  and 

dyirjg; 
Swam  streams  that  ran  all  curdled  with  the  blood 
Of  friend  and  foe  ;   stood  in  the  bristling  breach, 
And  in  ihe  hour  of  death  and  desolation 
Won  never  fading  victories  for  France? 
8hall  the  Queen's  minions — by  this  living  light — 

31ar.  Oh,  patient  gentleman  !   how  calm  he  is  ! 
Now  in  those  flnming  eyes,  and  scornful  lips, 
I  read  how  well  my  lesson  profits  thee. 
Thou  shdlt  not  to  the  Queen  in  this  hot  mood. 

Bour.  I  faith  i  must;  the  storm  is  over  now; 
And  having  burst,  why,  I  shall  he  the  calmer, 
larewell,  sweet  monitress!   I'll  not  forget. 

Mar.   Oh,  but  I  fear— 

Bour,  lear  nut — she  is  thy  mother ! 

[Exeuut  severally. 


2«  FRANCIS  THE  FIKST. 

I  • 

SCENE  1I.~THE  QUEEN  MOTHER'S  APARTMENT, 
The  Queen  discovered  writing.     Enter  Gonzales* 

GoHc   So  please  your  highness,  the  Duke  de 
-Bourbon 
Attends  your  grace. 

Queen,  Give  him  admittance  straig:ht. 

[exit  Gonzales. 
!Now  then  to  try  the  mettle  of  his  sou!, 
And  tempt  him  with  the  glitter  of  a  crown. 

Enter  Bourbon. 

Bour.  Madam,  1  humbly  kiss  your  highness'^ 

hands. 
Queen.  I  thank  you,  sir;  and  though  last  night's 
blithe  close 
Was  hardly  rest  to  one  o'ermarched  before, 
I  trust  you  are  recover'd  fiom  the  weariness 
Of  your  long  journey. 

Bour.   I  thank  your  grace,  but  owing  to  the 
speed 
Enjoin'd  by  those  who  penn'd  my — my  recall — 
IMy  journey  was  a  short  one. 

Queen,  Did  ye  not  rest  at  Chantelle  ? 
hour.  Ay,  good  madam. 
Queen,  Short  as  ^ou  hold  your  march,  my  lord, 
and  lightly 
As  you  think  fit  to  speak  of  it,  I  trow 
It  was  swil't  riding  to  reach  Paris  yesterday. 
Bour,  To  me  both  time  and  road  seem  short, 
indeed. 
From  a  proud  kingdom  back  to  a  poor  dukedom — ^ 
Queen,  My  lord,   there  is  much  bitterness  in 
that ! 


.£_  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  27 

Bour.  Bitterness  !  Madam — oh,  T  do  not  doubt  | 
There  were  high,  weijihty  reasons  warranted 
JViy  being  thus  recalled  Irom  Italy  ; 
And  those  same  weighty  reasons  will,  no  doubt. 
Point  out  a  fit  successor  to  me  also. 

Quee^i,  There  is  much  bitterness  in  that,  my 
lord  — 
Your  mind  is  apt  to  start  at  fancied  wrongs. 
And  makes  a  shadow  where  no  substance  is 

Bovr.  Your  gtace  will  pardon  n»e;  but  hitherto 
We  have  not  seen  such  payment  given  to  service; 
Can  government  be  wrested  tVom  a  man 
Unheard, — nay,  unaccused,  without  a  cause? 

Qufien,  No,  sir,  they   cannot — but  might  not 
the  cause 
Have  been  your  future  profit  and  advancement. 
Instead  of  your  disgrace? 

Bovr,  Oh  !  we  all  know 
The  governmnntof  our  Italian  States 
Must  henceforth  be  a  post  for  beardless  soldiers. 
Lacking  wit  wherewith  to  win  their  honors. 
Or  courtiers  lacking  valor  to  deserve  them. 

Queen,  1  see  the  bent  and  mark  of  this  discourse; 
And  though,  be  v/ell  assured,  no  other  man 
"Who  breathes  had  thus  far  ventured  in  hisspeech,- 
Your  daring  I  have  borne  with  patiently. 

Bour,  Home  with  me!     Borne  with  me  for- 
sooth ! — 

Queen f  Ay,  sir. 
Borne  with  you:  further  still;  for  in  that  sorrow 
Hath  fallen  on  your  mind  too  bitterly. 
And  well  nigh  chang'd  its  bright  and  polished 

metal 
With  its  corrosive  touch,— *IVe  pitied  you. 


aa  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

Bour.  Wrong'd !  borne  with !  pitied  !    By  our 
Lady,  madam — 
This  is  too  much. 

Queen.  Oh,  sir,  the  King's  advisers — 

Bour,  The  King  should  hearken  less  to  false 
advice, 
And  more  to  honest  service,  madam. 

Queen,  (aside.)  Ha  ! 
Now  is  the  bridle  thrown  upon  the  steed. 
(Aloud.)  I  pass  you  that,  my  lord,  you  are  too 

hot— 
And  now  that  I  have  curb'd  all  proud  respects 
In  kind  indulgence  of  your  hasty  spleen. 
Hear  me :  what  if  (I  will  repeat  the  question,) 
Your  quick  preferment,  and  increase  of  glory 
Had  been  alone  consulted  ? 

Bour.  How  so,  madam  ? 

Queen.  Ever  too  rash  in  your  belief,  my  lord, 
You  run  before  the  truth — you've  followers, 
Eager  and  zealous  partisans  you  have ; 
Think  you  it  is  impossible  some  friend 
Shall  haply  have  contriv'd  this  prompt  recall. 
To  bring  you  nearer  to  a  court,  where  you 
May  find  paths  unexplor'd  as  yet,  in  which  ^ 
Ambition  might  discover  such  a  prize. 
As  were  worth  winning  ? 

Bour.  I  would  have  you  know 
De  Bourbon  storms,  and  does  not  steal  his  hon- 
ours. 
And  though  your  highness  thinks  1  am  ambitious, 
(And  rightly  thinks)  1  am  not  so  ambitious 
Ever  to  beg  rewards  that  I  can  win, — 
No  man  shall  call  me  debtor  to  his  tongue. 

Queen,  (rising.)  'Tis  proudly  spoken ;   nobly 
too— but  what, 


TRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  1& 

What  if  a  woman's  hand  were  to  bestow 
Upon  the  Duke  de  Bourbon  such  high  honors, 
To  raise  him  to  such  state,  that  grasping  man. 
E'en  in  his  wildest  thoughts  of  mad  ambition, 
!N  e'er  dreamt  of  a  more  glorious  pinnacle? 

Bour    I'd  kiss  the  lady's  hand  an  she  were  fair, 
But  if  this  world  filled  up  the  universe, — 
If  it  could  g  tther  all  the  light  that  lives 
In  every  other  star,  or  sun,  or  world  ; 
If  kings  could  be  my  subjects,  and  that  E 
Could  call  such  pow'r  and  such  a  world  my  own, 
I  would  not  take  it  from  a  woman's  hand. 
Fame  is  my  mistress,  madam,  and  my  sword 
The  only  friend  1  ev»r  wooed  her  with. 
I  hate  ail  honors  smelling  of  the  distaff, 
And  by  this  light,  would  as  liet  wear  a  sphidle 
Hung  round  n»y  neck,  as  thank  a  lady's  hand 
For  any  favor  greater  than  a  kiss  — 

Queen,  And  how,  if  such  a  woman  loved  you, 
— how 
If,  while  shecrown'd  your  proud  ambition,  she 
Could  crown  her  own  ungovernable  passion, 
And  felt  that  all  this  earth  possess'd,  and  she 
Could  give,  were  all  too  little  for  your  love? 
Oh  good  my  lord  !  there  may  be  such  a  woman. 

Bour.    (aside.)    Amazement!  can   she   mean 
sweet  Margaret? 
(Aloud.)  Speak,      [he  falls  at  the  Queen^s  feet. 
Madam,  in  pity  speak  but  one  word  more, — 
Who  is  that  woman? 

Queen,    {throwing  off  her  veil)     I  am  that  wo- 
man ! 

Bour.  (starting  up.)  You  ?  by  the  holy  mass  ! 
I  scorn  your  proffers ;—  - 
Is  there  no  crimson  blush  to  tell  of  fame 


30  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

And  shrinking:  womanhood  !  Oh  shame !  shame  \ 
shame ! 
[The  Queen  remains  clasping  her  hands  to  her 
temples,  while  De  I'jourbon  walks  hastily  up  and 
down ;  after  a  long  pause,  the  Queen  speaks. 
Queen.  What  ho!  Marlon!  St  Evreux ! 
Enter  Two  Gentlemen. 

You  may  retire. 
Bour.  Contusion! 
Queen,   A  re  we  obeyed  ? 

Bour.  (aside.)  Oh  Margaret !  for  thee !  for  thy 
dear  sake ! 

[rushes  out,  followed  by  the  Gentlemen — the 
Queen  sinks  into  a  chair. 
Queen.    Ret'us'd   and   scorn'd  !    Infamy! — the 
word  chokt^s  me  ! 
Proud  noble,  1  will  weave  thee  such  a  web, — 
1  will  so  spoil    and  trample  on  thy  pride  ! 
Love  having  fail'd,  we'll  try  the  best  expedient' 
That  ofters  next — revenue  ! — Oh  sweet  revenge  ! 
Thou  art  my  only  hope,  my  only  dower, 
And  1  will  n)ake  thee  worthy  of  a  Queen. 
"What,  shall  we  wring  this  haughty  soul  a  little? 
Tame  this  proud  spirit,  curb  lh:s  untramed  char- 
ger ? 
We  will  not  weigh  too  heavily,  nor  grind 
Too  hard,  but.  havirig  bow'd  him  to  the  earth, 
Leave  the  pursuit  to  others — carrion  birds  ; 
W  ho  stoop,  but  not  until  the  falcon's  gorged 
Upon  the  prey  he  leaves  to  their  base  talons. 

[exit. 


PRANCTS  THE  FIHST.  ^  81 

SCENE  III.— AN  ANTEROOM  IN  THE  PALACE. 
Elder,  at  opposite  sides,  the  King  and  Clement. 

Fran.  The  very  man  I  seek, —  well  met,  Cle- 
ment, 
I,  have  a  boon  to  ask  of  thee. 

Cle.   My  liege, 
Speak  but  your  will,  it  is  my  law. 

Fran.   I  thank  thee.  ' 

But  first  answer  me  this — didst  thou  not  mark, 
This  morning  at  the  tournament,  a  lady 
Who  sat  beside  my  sister  ? 

Cle.  That  did  all 
Who  where  there— ^'twas  the  young  Countess  de 

Foix, 
Lautrec's  fair  sister. 

Fran.  Ay,  the  very  same; 
Dost  know  her,  good  Clement? 

Cle    My  liege,  I  do; 
And  e'en  will  say,  that  her  surpassing  beauty 
Surpasseth  not  her  wit,  which  is,  indeed. 
So  perfect,  an<i  withall  so  gentle,  too. 
That  her  fair  form  is  but  a  priceless  casket. 
Wherein  lie  precious  trieasures. 

Fran.  JBy  my  fay. 
The  lady's  praise  falls  freely  from  thy  tongue. 
Indeed,  Clement !     Methinks  she  must  be  perfect, 
Else  art  thou  very  mad  ! 

Cle.   My  gracious  liege  ! 

Fran.  Come,  come,  8ieur  Clement,  thou  dost 
love  the  lady  ! 

Cle,  All  sainU  defend  me  from  it !  as  I  see 
Your  grace  would  hold  such  love  insanity. 

Fran,  Hast  known  her  long  ? 

Cle,  Ay,  long  enough,  my  lord, 


as  ylANCIS  THE  FIRST, 

To  have  o'ercome  that  sudden  love  which  springs 
To  life  from  the  first  glance  of  beauteous  eyes.j 

Frau-  Do  thou  mine  errand  then,  and  bear  to 
her 
Thi.-*  letter  and  this  ring  ;  but  see  thou  name  not 
Whence  they  are  sent;  be  silent,  and  be  swift. 
And  to  my  chamber  bring  me  her  leply. — 
How,  now  !  I  thought  thee  gone  ;  why  dost  thou 

stop. 
And  turn  yon  letter  •'♦r  and  o'er,  and  look 
So  sad  and  doubting  ? 

Cle.  May  it  please  your  grace, 
I  had  a  sister  once — my  thoughts  were  of 
This  Lady's  brother. 

Fran.  Wtll,  sir !  what  of  him  ? 

Cle,  I  pray  you,  pardon  me,  my  noble  lord » 
But  if— 

Fran.  I  will  arrest  the  treason  hanging 
Upon  thy  lip ;  for,  by  my  knightly  word, 
Yon  scroll  is  such  as  any  gentleman 
Might  bear  to  any  lady. 

Cle,  For  that  word 
I  thank  your  majesty  with  all  my  heart, — 
I'll  bear  your  message  trustily. 

Fran.  And  quickly  ; 
And  meet  me  in  my  chamber  with  thine  answer. 
Good  speed — farewell ! — be  swift.  I  wait  for  thee. 

[Exeunt  setter  ally. 

SCENE  IV.— COUNCIL  CHAMBER. 

Under  a  Canopy  is  placed  the  throne  :  seats  are 

placed  on  both  sides  of  a  long  table. 

Enter  the  Queen -Mother. 
Q^een.  What,  daz^zled  and  ensnar'd,  ere  the 
black  eye9 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  83      ' 

Tbatblincled  can  have  flasli'd  three  glances  on  him! 
The  last  that  should  have  won  bis  yielding  heart, 

too  1 
She  hath  a  brother,  young  and  proud, — ambitious, 
Or  else  be  comes  not'ot  the  haughty  stock 
Whose  name  he  bears.     Ambiiifcus!    ay,  and  if 
This  black  eyed  girl  have  the  De  Foix'  lii^li  blood 
"Within  her  veins,  she'd  t'orward  bis  anibition. 
1  fear  this  p:ovetnment  of  Italy 
I\'o  h)nger  lies^i  my  disposal  now. 
I  would  that  blindness  had  put  out  the  beauty 
That  lies  in  ev6ry  woman's  eyes  !      I  would 
A  foul  deformity  alone  had  been 
The  portion  of  all  women,  ere  this  thing 
Had  come  to  pass  ? — Beset  on  ev'ry  side, — 
HemmVI  in, — and  forced  to  guard — e'en    more 

than  life — 
My  pow'r;  and  let  revenge  meantime  go  sleep: 
No  matter!  in  the  storm  the  pilot's  skill 
Shows  best — The  king  approaches  to  the  council. 
IFlourish  oj  trumpets. 

Enter  the  King   and  all  the    Court,    Alen9on  , 
Bonnivet,  Vend6me,  Chabannes,  Lautrec, 
Laval,  4*c. 

Fran,  The    Duke   de   Bourbon's  absence  we 
might  deem 
Strange  and  uncourteous  ;  but  we'll  rather  hope 
That  some  event  of  unforeseen  importance 
Hath  stood  between  his  duty  and  ourselves: 
1  ime  wears — 

[The  Kiu^  leads  his  Mother  to  the  throne — the 
^ohles  place  themselces  according  to  their  i  auk. 
On  to  the  buisness  of  the  day. 

Queen,  Sire,  will  it  not  seem  also  strange  in  us. 


84  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

And  all  uncourteous,  if  we  should  discuss 
This  matter,  ere  the  first  prince  of  the  blood 
Be  here  to  give  his  voice  in  this  decision  ? 

Enter  Bourbon. 
Said  I  not  so  ?     We  know  my  lord  of  Bourbon 
Is  ever  at  the^post  where  duiy  points. 

[^^omhow  seat 9  himself . 

Fran.  Cousin  of  Bourbon,  you  are  welcome 
here, 

Bour.  I  thank  your  majesty  who  bids  me  so. 
And  crave  the  assembly's  pardon  :  on  my  way 
A  man  withheld  me,  unio  whom  I  owed 
Some  gratitude. 

Q,ueen,  Shall  we  not  to  the  point? 

Fran.  Ay,   marry;    thus,  then,    noble  lords,  it 
is  :— 
But  now  a  messenger  from  Italy 
Hath  reached  our  court,  with  tidings  from  Milan,-— 
Prosper  Colonna  is  in  arms  again  ; 
And  Charles  of  Spain  has  sent  his  swarthy  bands 
To  i*avage  our  fair  tributary  states  : 
VVe  lack  ^ome  trusty  arm  to  wield  our  brand 
In  the  defence  of  Italy.     Already, 
Two  have  been  named  to  us — De  Bonnivet, 
An<l  Lautrec- 

Clueen  {aside  to  Bour.)     Bourbon,  you  look 
wondrous  pale; 
1  fpar  me  you  are  ill. 

Bour.  (aaide)  Uh  gracious  madam  ! 
Fear's  pallid  tint  must  live  within  your  eye. 
And  lend  whatever  yoM  look  on  its  own  hue. 

Fran   Stand  forth,  Count  Lautrec ;  for  De  Bon« 
nivet, 
Methinks,  his  youth  may  follow  yet  the  wars 
Before  he  lead  them  on ;  how  says  our  mother  ? 


FEANCIS  THE  FIRST,  3S  ^ 

Queen.   How  should  she  say  when  that  the 
royal  choice 
Lights  on  such  valour?  how  but  well  ?  hut  you. 
My  lord  of  Bourbon,  we  would  have  your  voice; 
Does  silence,  disapproving,  seal  your  lips? 
Or  takes  your  wisdom  no  exception  here? 

Bour.  None,  iMadam ;  and  the  only  wish  I  have 
Is,  that  you  ever  had  been  served  in  Italy, 
As  I  foresee  Count  Lautrec's  arm  will  serve  you. 

Lau,  My  liege!  beseech  you,  hold;  and  you, 
my  lords!— 
The  honor  now  conferred  srts  blushingly 
On  my  unworthy  brow;  oh!  not  on  me 
Bestow  a  prize,  which  years  of  bloody  setvice,     ^ 
And  hairs  bleach'd  in  your  camps,  alone  should" 
wear.  ' 

Fran,  Now,  by  my  fay,  Lautrec,  thy  speech  but 

shows  >  '  r 

As  brave  and  gallant  soldier's  speech  should  show 
Shrinking  from  praise  and  guerdon  duly  won: 
With  our  own  royal  hand  we'll  buckle  on 
The  sword,  that  in  thy  grasp  must  be  the  bulwark 
And  loadstar  of  our  host.     Approach!         * 

Queen,  Not  so: 
Your  pardon,  sir ;  but  it  hath  ever  been 
The  pride  and  privilege  of  woman's  hand  - 
To  arm  the  valor  that  she  loves  so  well ; 
"V^e  would  not,  for  our  crown's  best  jewel,  bate 
One  jot  of  our  accustomed  state  to-day ; 
Count  Lautrec,  we  will  arm  thee;  at  our  feet. 
Take  thou  the  brand  which  wins  thy  country's 

wars, —  .  * 

Thy  monarch's  trust,  and  thy  fair  lady's  favor. 
Why,  how  nowl-^how  is  this!— *my  lord  of 

Boufbon!  .        .       ..  .1;  .;:    ,r. 


Stf  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST- 

If  we  mistake  not,  thaf/s  the  sword  of  office 
Which  graces  still  your  baldiick;  with  your  leave. 
We'll  borrow  it  of  you. 

Bot/r.  (starting  vp.)  Ay,  'tis  the  sword 
You  buckled  on  with  your  own  hand,  the  day 
You  sent  nie  forth  to  conquer  in  >our  cause  ; 
And  there  it  is! — (breaks   the  sword) — take  it! 

and  with  it,  all 
Th'  allf'^iance  that  I  owe  to  France  ;  ay!   take  it ; 
And  with  it,  take  the  hope  1  breathe  o'er  it; 
That  so,  betore  Colonna's  host,  your  arms 
LiecrushVl  and  sullied  with  dishonor's  stain; 
So  reft  asunder  by  contending  factions. 
Be  your  Italian  provinces;  so  torn 
By  di-cord  and  dissension  this  vast  empire  ; 
So  broken  and  disjoin'd  your  subjects' loves; 
So  fallen  your  son's  ambition,  and  your  pride  ! 

Queen,  {rtmcj)  Whai:ho  !  a  guard  within  there ! 
Chailes  of  Bourbon, 
I  do  arrest  thee,  traitor  to  the  crown  ! 

Enter  Guards, 

Away  with  yonder  widemouth'd  thunderer  ! 

[Bourbon  is  forced  out. 
Dream  ye,  my  lords  !  that  thus  with  open  ears. 
And  gaping  mouths  and  eyes,  ye  sit  and  drink 
This  curbless  torrent  of  rebellious  madness  ! 
And  you,  sir, — aieyou  slumbering  on  your  throne! 
Oi  has  all  majesty  fled  from  the  earth. 
That  women  must  start  up,  and  in  your  council 
Speak,  think,  and  act  for  ye;  and,  lest  your  vassals, 
The  very  dirt  betieath  your  feet,  rise  up 
And  cast  ye  off,  must  women,  too,  defend  ye? 
For  shame,  my  lords  !  all,  all  of  ye,  for  shame ! — 
Off,  off  with  sword  and  sceptre,  for  there  is 


JrRAtCCIS  THE  tiRSf*  « 

No  loyalty  in  subjects ;  and  in  kings, 
No  king-like  terror  to  enforce  their  rights, 

Fran.  Our  mother  speaks  warmly  in  the  causey 
And  we  must  own  we  hold  in  somewhat  shame^ 
Thnt  we  tnrestaird  her  not  in  her  just  wrath. 
Nowuntotheeonceraore  we  turn,  Count Lautrec^-* 
To  morrow's  sun   must  find  you  on  your  march; 
Well  speed  ye  all !  and  victory  be  with  you  ! 
Farewell ;  be  faithful,  and  heav*n  send  ye  back 
With  no  more  danger  than  may  serve  to  be 
The  plea  for  praise  and  honourable  guerdon. 
Mother,  thy  hand  !  we'd  speak  awhile  with  thee* 
\Exeunt  all  but  Lautrec  and  Laval* 

Lau,  I  cry  thy  mercy,  friend !  but  I'm  so  maa'd^ 
So  thunderstruck,  so  lost  in  wonderment! 
Bourbon  arrested  !  Bourbon  prisoner  I 
And,  by  the  Queen  ! 

Lav.  'Twill  be  long  ere  I  forget      / 
That  woman's  look,  and  voice. 

Lau.  Come,  come,  Laval, 
Let  us  shake  off  this  dream  that  haunts  us  tlius^ 
The  Queen's  a  woman,  who,  upon  emergency. 
Can  don  the  devil,— which  of  them  cannot? 
'TIS  time  we  think  of  our  departure;— -hark! 
Footsteps !— - 

Lav,  Ay,  light,  though  hurried — 'tis  thy  sister—- 

Enter  Fran9oise. 
Lady,  you're  welcome  as  the  joyous  sUri, 
And  gentle  summer  airs,  which,  after  storms. 
Come  wafting  alt  the  sweets  of  fallen  blossoms 
Through   the  thick  foliage ;   whose  green  armft 

shake  off. 
In  gratitude,  their  showers  of  diamond  drops^ 
And  boW  to  the  reviving  freshness. 


^  FEANCIS  THE  FmST. 

Fran.  Oh,  my  dear  brother,  have  I  found  thee 
here  "> 
Here  will  I  lock  my  arms,  and  rest  forever. 

Lau,  My  dearest  love!   what  means  this  pas- 
.  sionate  g^rief  ? 
These  straining  arms  and  jjiishino:  tears?  for  shame! 
Look  up  and  smile  ;  for  honour  crowns  our  house. 
Dost  know  that  T  am  governor  of  Milan  ? 

Franc,  1  hey  told  me  so  ;  but  oh  !  they  told  me, 
too. 
That  ere  to  ni<rht  thou  wilt  go  hence ; — is't  so  ? 
Dost  thou,  indfeed,  forsake  me  ? 

Lau.   Maiden,  no; 
'J'is  true  we  march  for  Italy  to-nieht ; 
Tis  true  that  this  embrace  must  be  the  last 
Por  many  a  day.     But,  for  forsaking  thee ! 
I  leave  thee  with  the  Princess  Margaret ; 
I  leave  thee  here  at  court — nay,  silly  girl — 

Xau.' Oh,  peace  ! 
Cans.t  thou,  with  sharp  reproving  words,  wound 

one 
Who  gems  the  lustre  of  thy  new  made  honours 
With  such  rare  drops  of  love  I 

Lau.   My  gentle  sister  ? 

Franc.  Oh,  Lautrec  !  blame  me  not;  we  twaia 
have  been 
E'en  from  our  birth  together  and  alone ; 
Two  healthful  scions,  of  a  goodly  stock. 
Whose  other  shoots  have    withered    all— weVe 

grown 
Still  side  by  side ;  I  like  some  fragile  aspen ; 
And  thou  a  sturdy  oak,  'neath  whose  broad  shelter 
1  rear'd  my  head,  then  frown  not,  that  the  wind 
Doth  weigh  the  trembling  aspen  to  the  earthy 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  $» 

While  tlie  stout  oak  scarce  owns  the  powerless 
breeze. 

Lau,  Oh  churl !  to  say  one  unkind  word  to  thee; 
Come,  dearest,  come;  unlock  thy  hands; — Laval, 
Take  her,  in  pity,  from  my  arms,  for  sense 
Is  well  nigh  drown'd  in  sorrow  ! 

Franc.  Yet  one  word; 
I  do  beseech  thee,  leave  me  not  at  court; 
But  let  me  back  to  our  old  castle  walls- 
Let  me  not  stay  at  court. 

Lau*  Even  a^  thou  wilt; 
E'en  asitseemelh  lo  thee  most  fitting. 
Once  more,  farewell !  Laval,  thou'lt  follow  ?  [ex^ 

Lav.  Ay. 
But  ere  1  go,  perchance  for  ever,  lady. 
Unto  the  land,  whose  dismal  tales  of  battles, 
Where  thousands  strevvd  the   earth,  have  christ* 

en'd  it 
The  Frenchman's  grave,  Td  speak  of  such  a  thetne 
As  chimes  with  ihis  sad  hour,  more  fitly  than 
Is  name  gives  promist*    there's  a  love,  which  horn 
In  early  days,  lives  qn  through  silent  years, 
Is  or  ever  shines,  but  in  the  hour  of  sorrow, 
When  it  shows  brightest;  like  the  trembling  light 
Ol  a  pale  sunbeam,  bieaking  o'er  the  face 
Of  I  he  wild  waters  in  their  liour  of  warfare. 
Thus  much  forgive  !  and  tiust,  in  such  au  hour 
1  had  not  snid  e'en  this,  but  tor  the  hope 
Tl«at,  \^  hen  the  voice  of  victory  is  heard 
hroui  the  far  Tuscan  vallies,  in  its  swelj 
Should  inonriitul  dnges  mingle  tor  th«  dead 
Ami  L  be  one  ot  ihose  who  meat  rest. 
You  may  thance  recollect  tias  word,  and  say. 
That  day,  upon  the  bloody  field,  there  fell 
One  who  had  loved  ihee  iong*,  and  lov'd  thee  well  I 


40  FRANCIS  THE  PIRST. 

Franc.  Beseech  you  speak  not  thus :  we  sooiB^ 
I  trust, 
Shall  meet  again — till  then,  farewell,  and  pro««per; 
-And  if  you  love  me, — which  1  will  not  doubt, 
Silh  your  sad  looks  bear  witness  to  your  truih,— 
This  do  for  me — never  forsake  my  brother  I 
And  for  my  brother's  sake,  since  you  and  he 
Axe  but  one  soul,bemindlul  of  your  self.    [exi^Lav. 
Defenceless,  and  alone  I  ay,  go  thou  forth. 
For  hope  sits  sunnily  upon  thy  brow. 
My  brother !  but,  to  me,  this  parting  seems 
Pull  of  ill  omen'd  dread,  woe's  sure  forerunner. 
That  letter  and  that  ring — they  were  the  king's! 
Oh  !  let  ra«  quickly  from  this  fatal  court. 
Beneath  whose  smiling  surface  chasojs  lie  yawning^ 
To  gulph  alike  the  unwary  and  the  wise. 
I'll  bid  farewell  to  the  Princess  Margaret, 
And  then  take  shelter  in  my  ancient  home  ; 
There  brood  on  my  vain  love,  till  grief  become 
Love's  substitute — till  foolish  hope  be  dead. 
And  heav'n  shall  grant  me  patience  iu  its  stead. 

END  OF  ACT  II. 


ACT   III. 

SCENE  I.— THE  ROYAL  CHAMBER. 
Prancis  discovered, 
Fran,  By  Jupiter!  he  must  have  made  an  errand 
Unto  th'  antipodes,  or  this  new  world. 
Which,  itshould  seem,  our  grandsire  Adam's  will 
Did  leave  to  Charles  of  Spain,  else  doth  he  wear 
Dull  Uad  for  Mercury 'i  air-cutting  pinionsk 


TRAI«tCTft  THE  TltlSlR^  4V 

Enter  Clement. 

Wliy,  how  now,  slow  foot!  art  thou  lame,  f  prithee? 
Hath  she  the  ring, — has  she  perused  the  letter, — 
What  cioes  she, — says  she, — -answers  she?      Be 

quick, 
Man;  thy  reply.  Come,  come,  the  devil  speed  thee! 

C/e    My  liege  !  1  found  the  lady  beaming  all 
With  smiles  ot  hope  her  bi other  should  be  chosen: 
Then  to  her  hand  deliver'd  1  your  scroll. 

Fran,   Fl  a ! 

C/e.  The  which  she,  with  •  doubting  look,  did 
open ; 
And,  for  a  moment,  her  fix'd  eye  did  seem 
To  drink  the  characters,  but  not  the  sense 
Of  your  epistle. 

Thus  stood  the  lady,  till  her  eye  was  fain 
Begin  the  scroll  again  ;  and  then,  as  though 
That  moment  comprehension  woke  in  her. 
The    blood  forsook    her  cheeks ;    and   straight, 

asham'd 
Of  its  unnaturnal  desertion,  drew 
A  crisraon  veil  over  her  marble  brows. 

Fran.  I  would  Td  borne  the  scroll  myself,  thj 
words 
Image  her  forth  so  fair ! 

C/e.  Do  they,  indeed  ! 
Then  sorrow  seize  my  tongue ;  for,  look  you,  sir, 
I  will  not  speak  of  your  own  fame  or  honour. 
Nor  of  your  word  to  me  ;  king's  words,!  find. 
Are  diafts  on  our  credulity,  not  pledges 
Of  their  own  truth  ;  you  have  been  olten  pleas'd 
To  shou  er  your  royal  favours  on  my  head ; 
But  had  1  known  such  service  was  to  be 
The  nearest  way  my  gratitude  might  tako 


m  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

To  solve  the  debt,  Vd  e'en  have  given  back 
All  thiit  1  hold  of  you  ;  and,  now,  not  e*en 
Your  crown  and  kingdom  could  requite  to  me 
The  culling  sense  ot  i>hanie  ihat  1  endur'd 
When  on  uie  tell  ihe  sad  reproachtui  glance 
Wliich  lold  me  how  1  stood  in  the  estnenfi 
Of  yonder  lady.     l*ve  sorrow  at  my  heart 
lo  liiiiik}our  majesty  has  reckon'd  thus 
Upon  my  nature.     1  was  poor  belore, 
1  hertore  1  can  be  poor  again  without 
liegret,  so  i  lose  not  mine  own  esleem. 

I'mu.  Skip  me  thy  spleen,  and  onward  with 
thy  tale. 
"What  said  the  lady  then? 

Cie,   With  trembling  hands 
She  lolded  up  your  scroll ;  and  more  in  sorrow. 
As  I  beleive,  than  anger,  letting  fall 
Unheeded  from  her  hand  the  sparkling  jewel, 
Siie  lett  me. 

Fran,  Tiiou,  I  warrant,  sore  abash'd, 
And  duisl  not  urge  her  further.      Excellent ! 
Oh  !  ye  are  precious  wooers,  all  of  ye  I 
1  marvel  how  ye  ever  ope  your  lips 
Unto,  or  look  upon  that  feartui  thing, 
A  lovely  woman  ! 

Cie    And  I  marvel,  sir 
At  those  who  do  not  fi  el  the  majesty.— 
By  heav'n  !  I'd  almost  said  the  holiness, — 
'I  hat  circles  round  a  fair  and  virtuous  woman  : 
1  here  is  a  gentle  puriiy  that  breathes 
In  >uch  a  one,  mingled  with  chaste  respect. 
And  modesi  pride  of  her  own  excellence  -^ 
A  shrinking  nature,  that  is  so  adverse 
To  aught  uuseemly,  that  1  could  as  soon 
Forget  the  sacred  love  1  owe  to  heav'n, 


FRANCIS  THK  FIRST.  1M 

A»  dare,  with  impure  tbong^hts,  to  taint  the  air 
liiliaTd  by  such  a  being — than  uhoni»  niy  liege. 
Heaven  cannot  look  on  anything  more  holy, 
Or  earth  be  proud  of  anything  m  »re  fair.       [Exit. 
Fran,  Good!  'lis  his  god  stirs  in  him   now  I 
trow 
The  poei  is  inspired,  and  doubtless,  too. 
With  his  own  muse;  whose  heavely  perfections 
He  fain  would  think  belong  to  Eve's  frail  daugh- 
ters. 
Well :  I  will  find  occasions  for  myself—- 
With  my  own  ardent  love  Til  lake  the  field. 
And  woo  this  pretty  saint  until  she  yield.     [Exit, 

SCENE  II— A  SMALT.  APARTMENT  IN  THE 
LOUVRE. 

Enter  Gonzales  with  papers  in  his  hand, 

.    Gon.   BourboH  arrested!    oh   sweet  mistress 

Fortune ! 
Who  rails  at  thee,  doth  wrong  thee,  on  raj  soul  I 
I'll  strive  to  win  access  to  Bourbon's  prison; 
It  shall  fare  ill  if  1  cannot  outwit — 
Even  this  lynx-eyed  woman. 

Enter  the  Queen, 

Qveen.  Save  you,  father! 
Throw  by  those  papers  now,  and  hearken  to  me  : 
De  Bourbon  is  arrested  ;  'tis  of  that 
1  came  to  speak — you  must  straight  to  his  prison. 

[Gon /ales  smiles. 
How  now,  what  council  hold  you  with  yourself? 

Gon.  Debate  of  marvel,  only,  please  your  grftC^ 
Is  then  the  Duke  so  near  his  verge  of  life. 
That  he  hath  need  of  spiritual  aid. 
To  improve  this  brief  and  wanting  tehuref 


44  yRANCIS  TITE  ?IRSt. 

Queen,  Most  reverend  sir  and  holy  confessor. 
Get  thee  unto  the  prison  o\  this  h)rd ; 
There,  see  thou  (h)  exhort  him  unto  death;— 
And  mark  me — for  all  warriors  hold  acquaintance 
With  the  ^riiu  monarch  :  when  he  rides  abroad 
The   battle  skirts,  they  crown    him  with  proud 

crrsts  ; 
In  human  blood  dye  they  his  purple  robes ; 
They  place  a  flashing:  sword  in   his  rijjht  hand^ 
And  call  him  Glory  ! — therefore  be  tiiou  sure 
To  speak  of  scaffolds  rolxnl  in  black; 
Grim  executioners,  and  the  vile  mob 
Staring  and  jeering:   *nea»h  whose  clouted  shoe.^f 
Unhonour'd,  shall  the  noble  stream  of  life 
That  flows  in  his  proud  veins  soak  in  the  earth. 

Gon.   Madam,  I  will. 

Queen,  Then,  when  thou  hast  o'ercome 
The  hauohty  spirit,  mould  it  to  thy  will. 
And  tutor  him  so  well,  that  presently 
Bid  them  stiikeoff  his  chains;  and  to  the  palace 
Lead  hJni  in  secret:  above  all,  be  sure 
To  lard  thy  speech,  but  chiefly  at  the  first, 
Wiih  sober  strains  of  fitting  holiness  : — 
Brieflv,  dissemble  well — but  pshaw  !  I  prate! 
1  had  forgot  again — thou  art  a  priest : 
Tarry  not,  and  conduct  thy  prisoner 
Unto  my  chamber,  where  I  wait  for  thee,    [exit, 

Gon.  Dissemble  well!  witness,  deep  hell,  how 
well! 
I  cannot,  for  my  life,  remember  me 
That  ever  [  made  bargain  with  the  devil; 
Yet,  do  all  things  fall  out  so  strangely  well 
For  nie  and  for  my  purpose,  as  though  fate 
Served  an  apprenticeship  unto  my  will. 
Now  to  De  Bourbon.  [exit  Gonzalei. 


FRANCIS  THE  PTllSf  •  4i 

SCENE  III— A  PRISON. 
Bourbon  and  Margaret  discovered. 

Boiir,  Lady,  you  speak  iu  vain. 

Mar*  1  do  beesei-h  thee  ! 
I  never  bowed  my  knee  to  aught  of  earth, 
Ere  this;  but  1  have  ever  seen  around  me 
Others  who  knelt,    and  worshipp'd   princes*  fa- 
vours : 
Upon  my  bended  knees,  I  do  implore  thee.— 
But  take  the  freedom  that  my  gold  hath  bought 

thee; 
Away  !  nor  let  these  eyes  behold  thy  death  ! 

Bour.  You  are  deceiv'd,  lady,  they  will  not 
dare 
To  take  my  life. 

Mar,  'Tis  thou  that  art  deceived ! 
'\Vhat!    talk'st  thou   of  not  daring!— do>t  thou 

see  ♦ 

Yon  sun  that  flames  above  the  earth  ?  [  tell  thee, 
That,  it  my  mother  had  but  bt  nt  her  will 
To  win  that  sun,  she  would  accomplish  it. 

Bour.    My  hie  is  little  worth  to  any  now, 
Nor  have  1  any,  who  shall  after  me 
Inheiit  my  proud  name. 

Mar,   Hold,  there,  my  lord! 
Posterity,  to  whom  gteat  men,  and  their 
Fair  naiues  belong,  is  your  inheritor. 
Your  country,  from  whose  kings  your  house  had 

birth, 
Claims  of  you,  sir,  your  high  and  spotless  name  I- 
Fame  craves  it  of  you;  for  when  there  be  noDd 
Bearing  the  blood  ot  mighty  men,  to  bear 
Their  virtues  also, — Fame  emblazons  them 
Upon  h«r  flag,  which  o'er  the  world  she  waTfi, 


Persuading  others  to  like  glorious  deedn> 
Oh  !  will  you  dip  upon  a  public  scaffold? 
And  in  the  wide  hereafter,— for  ihe  which 
All  warriors  hope  to  live, — shall  your  proud  name 
Be  bandied  to  and  Fro  by  foul  tradition, 
Branded  and  curst,  as  rebel's  name  should  be? 

Bour    No !  light  that  curse  ou  those  who  uiade 
me  such  — 
Lijohtthe  foul  cu'-se  of  black  ingratitude 
Upon  the  heartlt^ss  boy,  who  knew  not  how 
To  prize  his  subject's  love !     A  tenfold  curse 
Light  on  that  royal  harlot — 

Mar,  Oh  !  no  more — 

Bour,  Nay,  maiden,  'tis  in  rain  !  for  thou  shalt 
hear  me ! 
Drink  to  the  dregs  the  knowledp^e  thou  hast  forced, 
And  dare  upbraid  meeveawith  a  look; 
Had  I  but  loved  thy  mother  more — thee  less, 
1  might  this  hour,  have  stood  upoii,  a  throne  ! 
Ay,  start !   1  tell  thee,  that  the  Queen  thy  motheib- . 
Hath  loved — doth  love  me  with  the  fierce  desires 
Other  unbridled  nature;  she  hath  thrown 
Her  crown,  the  ki^igdom,  and  herself  before  nie! 
Now  stare,  and  shudder, — freeze  thysejf  to  mar* 

ble;— 
Now  say  where  best  the  meed  of  shame  is  due,— 
Now  look  upon  these  prison  walls,— these  chaioBc- 
And  bid  me  rein  my  anger! 

Mar.  Oh,  be  silent! 
For  you  have  rent  in  twain  the  sacred'st  veil 
That  ever  hung  upou  the  eyes  of  innocence. 

Gon,  (without)    tieav'n   bless  the  iniaate;|  of r 
this  prison  house!  .;      . 

Bour,   n  ho  calls  without? 


niANCIS  THE  VIRSt.  41 

Enter  Gonzales. 

Mar,  The  pulse  of  life  stands  still 
^'iiliih  my  veins,  and  horror  hath  overcome 
iVIy  siren^th  !     Oh!  holy  father!  to  thy  care 
1)g  J  commend  this  wayward  man.       [Exit  Mar. 

Bo?/r    How,  now? 
^  priest!  whrit  means  this  most  unwelcome  visit? 

tjfon  \V  hoquestionsthusasono'theholychurch? 
3Look  on  these  walls,  whose  stern,  time  stained 

hrows 
Trown  like  relentless  justice  on  their  inmates! 
l^isten! — that  voice  is  Kcho's  dull  reply 
Vin\o  the  rattling  of  your  chains,  my  lord  ;— 
"^'hat  shovld  a  priest  do  here? 

Bour,  Ay,  what,  indeed! — 
'Unless  you  come  to  soften  dow^n  these  stones 
With  your  discourse,  and  teach  the  tedious  echo 
A  nevs^er  lesson  ;  trust  me,  that  is  all 
Your  presence,  father,  will  accomplish  here. 

Go7i,  Oh  !  sinful  man  !  and  is  thy  heart  so  hard. 
That  I  might  easier  move  thy  prison  stones  ? 
Know,  th^n,  my  mission-^death  is  near  at  hand! 

Bour.  Go  to — go  to!     I  have  fought  battlea, 
father, 
Where  death  and  1  have  met  in  full  close  conta*  t^ 
And  parted,  knowing  we  should  meet  again ; 
Go  prate  to  others  about  skulls  and  graves; 
Thou  never  didst  in  heat  of  combat  stand. 
Or  know  what  good  acquaintance  soldiers  have 
TViih  the  pale  scarecr()\\ — Death! 

Gon    (aside-)  Ah,  think'st  thou  so? 
Hear  me,  thou  hard  of  heart ! 
Tbey  who  go  forth  to  battle  are  led  on 


4ft  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST- 

With    sprightly    trumpets    and    shrill  clam'roof 

clarions; 
The  drum  doth  roll  itsj  double  notes  along:. 
Echoing  the  horses'  framp;  and  the  sweet  fife 
Runs  through  the  yielding  air  in  duclet  measure. 
Thai  makes  the  heart  leap  in  its  case  of  steel ! 
Thou,  shalt  be  knelTd  unto  ihy  death  by  bells, 
PondVous  and  iron  tougued,  whose  sullen  toll 
Shall  cleave  thine  achiuic  brnin,  and  on  thy  soul 
i'all  with  a  leaden  weight;  ihe  muffled  drum 
Shrill  mutter  round  thy  path  like  distant  thun  !er; 
'Stead  ot  the  war  cry,  and  wild  battle  roar,— 
That  swells  upon  the  tide  of  victory, 
And  seems  unto  the  conqueror's  eager  ear 
Triumphant  harmony  of  glorious  discords, — 
Thfere  shall  be  voices  cry  foul  shame  on  thee! 
And  the  infuriate  populace  shall  clamour 
To  heav'n  for  lightnings  on  thy  rebel  head  I 
Bour.    Monks  love  not  bells,  which  call  them 

up  to  pray'rs 
I'the  d(^ad  noon  o'  night,  when  they  would  snore, 
Ttather  than  watch  ;  but,  father,  1  care  not, 
E'en  it  the  ugliest  sound  I  e'er  did  hear — 
Thy  raven  voice — croak  curses  o'er  my  grave. 
Gon»   What !  death  and  shame !  alike  you  heed 

them  not! 
Then,  Mercy  !  use  thy  spft,  persuasive  arts, 
And  melt  this  stubborn  spirit  !     Be  il  known 
To  you,  my  lord,  the  Queen  hath  sent  me  hither, 
Bour,  Then  get  thee  hence  again,  toul,  pand*- 

ring  priest! 
By  hrav'n  I  knew  that  cowl  did  covei  o'er 
Some  filthy  secret,  that  the  day  dared  not 
To  pry  into, — Out,  thou  uuholy  thiug  ! 


FRA«CIS  THE  FIRST,  H 

Gon*  Hold,  mad  mam! 
If  for  thy  tame,  if  for  thy  warm  heart's  blood 
Thou  wilt  not  hear  me,  listen  in  the  name 
0(  France  thy  country  ! — 

Bout\  J  have  no  country, — 
I  am  a  traitor,  cast  from  out  the  arms 
Of  my  ungrateful  country  !  1  disown  it ! 
Wither'd  be  ail  its  glorii  s,  and  its  pride  ! 
May  it  beome  the  slave  of  foreign  powerl 
May    foreign   princes  grind  its   thankless  chil- 
dren, 
And  make  all  those,  who  are  such  fools,  as  yet 
To  spill  their  blood  for  it,  or  for  its  cause. 
Dig  it  like  dogs  !  and  when  they  die,  like  dogs, 
Rot  on  its  surface,  and  make  fat  the  soil. 
Whose  produce  shall  be  seized  by  foreign  hands! 

Gon.   If  ou  beat  the  air  with  idle  words:  no  man 
Doth  know  how  deep  his  country's  love  lies  grained 
In  his  heart's  core,  until  the  hour  of  trial  ! 
Fierce  though  you  hurl  your  curse  uj'on  the  land, 
Whose  monarchs  cast  ye  from  its  bosom,  yet 
Let  but  one  blast  of  war  come  echoing 
From  wliere  the  Ebro  and  ihe  Douro  roll,-^ 
Let  but  the  Pyrenees  reflect  tl^e  gleam 
Of  twenty  of  Spain's  lances, — and  your  sword 
Shall  leap  from  out  its  scabbard  to  your  hand  ! 

Bour.  Ay,  priest,  it  shall !  eternal  heavea,  it 
shall! 
And  its  far  flash  shall  lighten  o*er  the  land, 
The  leading-star  of  Spain's  victorious  host^ 
But  flaming,  like  some  dire  portentous  cornet^ 
r  th'  eyes  of  Francie,  and  her  proud  governors  I 
Be  merciful,  my  fate,  nor  cut  me  off 
Ere  1  have  wreaked  my  fell  desire,  and  m^de 
iQfamy  glori()us,  and  dishonour  fame ! 


«e  niANCis  THE  xf^sr. 

But,  if  my  wayward  destiny  hath  wiU'cf 
That  I  should  here  be  butcher'd  »ham«fullyy 
By  the  immortal  soul,  that  is  man's  portion. 
His  hope,  and  his  inheritance,  1  swear. 
That  on  the  day  Spain  overflows  its  bounds. 
And  rolls  the  tide  of  war  upon  these  plains, 
l\1y  spirit  on  the  battle's  edge  shall  ride  ; 
And  louder  than  death's  music,  and  the  roar 
Of  combat,  shall  my  voice  be  heard  to  shout. 
On — on — to  victory  and  carnage  I 

Gon.  Now 
That  day  is  come,  ay,  and  that  very  hour; 
Now  shout  your   war-cry;   now  unsheath  your 

Bword ! 
Ill  join  the  din,  and  make  these  tottering  walls 
Tremble  and  nod  to  hear  our  fierce  defiance  I 
Nay,  nerer  start,  and  look  upon  my  cowl — 
Off!  rile  denial  of  my  manhood's  pride  ! 
Nay,  stand  not  gazing  thus:  it  is  Garcia, 
Whom  thou  hast  m*t  in  deadly  fight  full  oft 
When    France    and  Spain  join'd  m  the  battle* 

fit  Id!— 
Beyond  the  Pyrenean  boundary 
That  guards  thy  land  are  forty  thousand  men — 
Impatient  halt  they  there;  their  foaming  steeds 
Pawing  the  huge  and  rock  built  barrier. 
Thai  bars  their  further  course:  they  wait  for  thee; 
For  thee  whom  France  hath  injur'd  and  cast  off; 
For  thee,  whose  blood  it  pays  with  shameful  chains. 
More  shameful  death  ;  for  thee,  whom  Charles  of 

Spain 
Summons  to  head  his  host,  and  lead  them  on 
To  conquest  and  to  glory ! 

hour.  To  revenge! 
Why, how  we  dream!  why  look,  Garcia;  ijanit  thou 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST,  It 

With  mumbled  priestcraft  file  away  these  chains* 
Or  must  1  bear  them  into  Spain  with  me, 
That  Charif  s  may  learn  what  guerdon  valour  wins 
This  side  the  Pyrenees? 

Gon,   It  shall  not  need — 
What  ho  !  but  hold — together  with  this  garb, 
Methinks  I  have  thrown  off  my  prudence! 

[Resumes  the  Monk's  cowl. 

Bour.  What! 
Wilt  thou  to  Spain  with  me  in  frock  and  cowl. 
That  men  shall  say  De  Bourbon  is  turn'd  driveller. 
And  rides  to  war  \n  company  with  monks? 

Gon.   Listen — The  Queen  for  her  own  purpose! 
Confided  to  my  hand  htjr  signet-img, 
Bidding  me  strike  your  fetters  off,  and  lead  you 
By  secret  passes  to  her  private  chamber; 
But  being  free,  so  use  thy  fieedoin,  that 
Before  the  morning's  dawn  all  search  be  fruitless. 
What  ho  I  within. 

Enter  Jailer. 

Behold  this  signet-ring  ! — 

Strike  off'  tho&e  chains,  and  get  thee  gone. 

[exit  Jailer^ 

And  now  follow. How's  this, dost  doubt 

me,  Bourbon  ? 
Bour    Ay, 
First  for  thy  habit's  take;  and  next, becaust 
Thou  rather,  in  a  craven  priest's  disgfuise, 
Tarriest  in  danger  \n  a  foreign  court. 
Than  seek'st  that  danger  in  thy  country's  wars. 
Gon,  Thou  ai  t  unai  m*d  !  there  is  my  dagger ; 
'tis 
The  only  weapon  that  I  bear,  lest  fate 
Should  play  me  faUe;  take  it,  and  um  it,  tooi  1 


It  FRANCIS  THE  flRtST, 

If  in  the  dark  and  lonely  path  1  lead  thee, 
'I  liou  mark  St  nie  halt,  or  lurii,  or  make  a  sign 
Ottrtachesy  ! — but  tirsttell  tne,  dost  know 
John  Count  Laval  ? 

Bour,   What  1  Lautrec's  loving  friend, 
Kow  bound  tor  Italy,  along  wiili  him? 
Goti.  'V[\eu  the  ioui  fiend  hath  mingled  in  my 

plot, 
And  mair'd  it  too!  my  Iit'e*s  sole  aim  and  purpose! 
D»dst  thou  but  know  what  damned  injune*, 
V>  tiat  tout,  unknightly  shame  and  obloquy, 
His  sue — whose  name  is  wormwood  to  my  mouth 
Did  heap  upon  oui  house — didst  thou  but  know— 
Ko  matier — get  thee  gone — I  tarry  heie. 
And,  should  we  never  meet  agauj,  when  thou 
Shall  hear  ot  the  most  tearlul  deed  ol  daring, 
-Ot  ihe  most  horrible  and  bloody  tale. 
That  ever  giaced  a  beldame's  midnight  legend, 
Or  iVoze  b^v  gaping  hst'ners,  think  ot  me 
Aud^ny  revenge  I  Mow,  Bourbon,  heaven  speed 

thee  I  I  Exeunt, 


SCENE  IV.-. THE  ROYAL  APARTMENT. 

Prancis  seated — two  Gejitle/nen  attending. 
Enter  the  Queen. 

Queen,  Hear  you  these  tidings,  son?  Milan  is 
lost  ! 
Prosper  Colonna  hath  dissolved  our  hont 
Like  icicles  i'  the  sun's  beams;  and  Count  Lautrec, 
MaddeiiM  with  his  defeat  aud  shame,  tied  troui  it 
The  night  Colonnu  entered  ,\kilan. 

Fran,  {^starting  up.)  Coward  I 
But  he  shall  answer  dearly  for  his  flight 


fHANCIS  THE  FIRST.  4ft 

A  nd  for  fair  TMilan's  loss.     Say  tViPV  not  wbither 
"Re  is  flpd  ?  [Shouts  without. 

What.,din  without? 

Qveen.  'Tis  the  people, 
Thronging:  round  the  palace  gates,  with  gaping 

months. 
To  hear  the  confirmation  of  the  tidings, 

Shouts  without — Enter  a  Messenger. 

Fran    How  now  ?  what  more  ? 

Mess.  So  please  yon,  my  dread  lieg^e. 
News  are  this  hour  arriv'd  that  the  Connt  Lautrec, 
Passing:  disp:uis'd  from  Ttalv  towards  Paris, 
Path  been  arrested  bv  stout  Lord  St.  Pfil; 
Who  in  his  castle  holds  him  a  strait  prisoner 
Until  your  royal  pleasure  be  made  known. 
Whether  he  there  sojourn  in  longer  durance. 
Or  be  sent  hither  to  abide  his  trial. 

Fran.   Confessed  he  the  betravins:  of  our  Milan? 

Mess   Fie  holds  an  unmoved  silence  on  the  pointy 
Still  craving  of  your  majpsty  a  hearing:, 
And,  after  that,  stern  and  impartial  justice. 
•^  Fran  An6  by  the  soulof  Charlemas:ne,  weswear 
He  shall  have  justice,  such  as  he  demands. 

[exit  Messenger* 
His  deeds,  upon  the  swift  winjjs  of  the  wind, 
Have  reach'd  the  hi^h  tribunal  of  our  throne. 
And,  ere  himself  arrive,  have  there  condem'd  him. 
Mother,  how  is't  with  thee  ?  thou  art  drown'd  in 
thought. 

Queen.  Can  it  be  otherwise,  when  wave  o'er 
wave 
Of  fortune's  adverse^ide  comes  whelming  us 
With  most  resistless  ruin  ?     Hast  thou  heard. 
Or  did  this  loss  of  Milan  stop  thine  ears 
With  its  ill-fated  din,'— Bourbon's  escap'd ! 


M  FflANClS  THE  FIR^T. 

Fran.  Bourbon    escap'd!   then  fortune   lore* 
Ciilonna! 
How  fell  this  tTJl  chance? 

Queen    An^Jher  time 
Dfeds,  HHcl  not  ^•oicls,  suit  best  this  exigency; 
Our  task  is  vigilant  and  swift  pursuit.         [t-xit. 

Fran.  My  task  is  vi|^ilant  thought  slow  pursuit; 
1  have  small  care  for  even  this  event, 
Which  seems  as  though  it  shook  my  very  throne  ; 
One  thought  alone  hath  room  within  my  breast — 
How  I  may  win  this  maid :  whose  fearful  charms 
Have  dtem'd  themselves  secure  in  absence  only; 
Forgetting  how  fond  memVy,  young  love's  shadow. 
Laughs  »t  such  hope.     I'll  win  her,  though  the 

star9 
Link  hands,  and  make  a  fiery  rampart  round  her: 
Though  she  be  ice,  steel,  rock,  or  adamant. 
Or  anything  that  is  more  hard  and  stubborn  ; 
Love,  lend  me  aid,  this  victVy  must  be  thine. 
Win  thou  this  peerless  vot'ry  to  thy  shrine  I 

END  OF  ACT  III. 

ACT  IV. 

BCEN^  1.- AN  APARTMENT  IN  THE  CHATEAU 
DE  FOIX. 

Frnapise  discm^erd seated — Enter  Florise. 

Flo.  How  fare  you,  madam  ? 

Franc.  Well,  Florise.     Why,  girl,— 
'Why  dost  thou  gaze  on  me?     Do  hollow  cheeks 
And  tearstrain'd  eyes  belie  me? 

Flo,  Ladv,  no ; 
But  0Cfta«thlDg  ia  your  Toioe  tid  is  your  look,--^ 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  55 

Something  that  is  all  sorrow's,  only  hers,— 
Is  grafted  on  the  roses  ot  your  cheek, 
And  burns  in  the  sad  lustre  of  your  eye. 
Pardon  me,  sweet,  my  mistress  !  but,  indeed, 
Since  your  return  from  court,-— 

[A  horn  is  heard  without. 

Franc.  Hasten,  prating  girl, 
And  fetch  me  tidings  of  this  sudden  summons'l 

[Exit  Florise. 
£  tremble  !  yet  T  scarce  know  wherefore — how 
If  it  should  be  my  brother? 

Re-enter  Florise. 

Flo.  Madam,  one, 
A  messenger  from  court,  is  just  arriv'd 
With  this  despatch.  [Exit  Florise, 

Franc.  From  court  ?— oh  give  it  me  ! 
Hold!  should  it  be  the  king!  pshaw,  trembling  fool! 

[Brakes  the  seal. 
Evil  or  good  come  of  it,  I  will  read — 
(Reads)  *  This,  from  my  most  doleful  prison-house. 

*  If  half  the  love  thou  oft  hast  sworn  to  me, 
'  But  half  be  true,  read,  and  deliver  me  ! 

*  This  I  indite  in  such  a  darksome  cell 

*  As  fancy  shrinks  from,— *where  the  blessed  light 

*  And  genial  air  do  never  visit  me, — 

*  Where  chains  bow  down  my  limbs  to  the  damp 

earth, 

*  And  darkness  compasseth  me  like  a  veil; 

*  1  do  beseech  thee,  by  the  tender  love 

*  That  I  have  borne  thee  from  mine  infancy,— 

*  I  do  beseech  thee,  by  all  strongest  ties 

*  Of  kin,  and  of  compassion, — let  me  not 

*  Lie  like  a  curs'd  and  forgotten  thing, 

*  Thrust  down  beneath  the  earth ; — let  not  the  blood 
^  That  bounds  in  youth's  swift  current  thro'  my  veins 

D 


5^  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

*  Be  chiird  by  dungeon  dews  before  its  time ; 

*  Or  thicken'd  by  the  weight  of  galling:  fetters  !^ 
Oh  misery  !  my  brother, — my  dear  brother  \ 
(Reads)—'  If  this  doth  move  the  spirit  of  thy  love, 
/Hie  thee  to  court,  and  there,  at  the  King's   feet, 
^  Kneel  and  implore  my  pardon;  do  not  fear 

'  To  let  thy  tears  plead  for  me,— to  thy  prayers 

*  Do  I  commit  my  fate;  and  on  thy  lips, 

*  Whose  moving  eloquence  must  touci)  his  soul, 

'  Hangallmy  hopes  !^ — sweet  sister,think  upon mel 
Oh,  my  unhappy  brother ! 
Why  didst  thou  not  at  price  of  my  own  blood 
Hate  thy  deliverance !  but  with  heart  still  throb- 
bing 
Shall  I  encounter  the  King's  eyes,  and  feel 
That  winning  is  but  loss;  and  life,  and  liberty. 
Given  to  thee,  the  warrants  of  my  ruin? 
(Reads) — *  I  do  beseech  thee,  by  the  tender  love 

*  That  I  have  borne  thee  from  thine  infancy !' 
I  can  no  more  !  thou  shalt  be  rescued  !  yet— 

Enter  Florise. 

JFZo.  Madam!  the  messenger  awaitsyouranswer. 

Franc.  Oh,  maiden, read!  my  brother  is  in  prison; 

His  fond  arms  that  so  oft  have  clasp*d  around  me. 

Strait  bound  with  gyves : — oh  heaven  !  my  dear, 

dear  brother. 

Flo.  Why,  madam,  how  now? are  ye  lost  in  grief? 

Are   tears'  his    ransom  ? — Up  ;  for  shame  !    for 

shame ! 
You  must  to  court,  and  straight  procure  his  pardon. 
Franc.  Kind  heaven  be  with  me  !  I   will   this 
hour  away  ; — 
Nay,  come  not  with  me  ;  ere  the  night  be  fallen, 
I  shall  return,  successful  and  most^lest ; 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  57 

Or  thou  wilt  hear,  that  at  th'  obdurate  feet 

Of  him,  whom  I  am  sent  to  supplicate , 

I  pour'd  my  Ufe  in  prayers  for  my  dear  brother. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II— A  ROOM  IN  THE  PALACE. 

Francis  and  Bonnivet. 
Fran,  No  tidings  of  De  Bourbon;  search  is  vain. 
The  storm  is  gath'ring,  and  'tis  time  we  spread 
Due  shelter  over  us.         " 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

In  this  despatch — How  now  ? 

Gent.  One  stands  without,  and  earnestly  en- 
treats 
To  see  your  Majesty. 

Fran.  Hath  he  no  name? 

Gent.  My  liege,  it  is  a  woman  ;  but  her  veil 
So  curtains  all  her  form,  that  even  eyes 
Which  knew,  and  oft  had  gaz'd  on  her,  might  guess 
In  vain. 

Fran.  A  woman,  and  a  suppliant ! 
Let  her  have  entrance. 

Bon.  At  some  other  time 
Your  Majesty,  perhaps,  will  deign  t'  inform  me 
Further  concerning  Italy. 

Fran.  Ay,  ay, 
At  some  more  fitting  time. 

Enter  Francoise. 
Close  veil'd,  indeed;  mysterious  visitant! 
Whom  curious  thought  doth  strive   to  look  upon. 
Despite  th'  cloud  that  now  enshrines  yoy — pardon 
If  failing  in  its  hope,  the  eager  eye 


58  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

Doth  light  on  evVy  point,  that,  iiBconceaFd, 
Tells  of  the  secret  it  so  fain  would  pierce  ; 
That  heav'nly  gait,  whose  slow  majestic  niotioo 
Discloses  all  the  bearing  of  command ; 
That  npisless  foot,  which  falling  on  the  earth 
Wakes  not  an  echo  ;  leaves  not  e'en  a  print ; 
So  jealous  seeming  of  its  favours  ;  and 
This  small  white  hand,    I   might  deem  born  of 

marble, 
But  for  the  throbbing  life  that  trembles  in  it  :-^ 
Why,  how  is  this  ?  'tis  cold  as  marble's  self; 
And  by  your  drooping  form  ! — this  is  too  much — » 
Youth  breathes  around  you  ;  beauty  is  youth's  kin; 
I  must  withdraw  this  envious  veil-^ 

Prone.  Hold,  sir! 
Your  highness  need  but  speak  to  be  obeyM  ; 
Thus  then— (iiwt?ei7»J— 

Vran,  Amazement !  oh,  thou  peerless  light ! 
Why  thus  deny  thy  radiance,  and  enfold, 
.Like  the  coy  moon,  thy  charms  in  envious  clouds  ?* 

Franc,  Such  clouds  best  suit,  whose  sun  is  se| 
for  ever ; 
And  veils  should  curtain  o'er  those  eyes,  whose^ 

light 
Is  all  put  out  with  tears;  oh,  good,  my  liege! 
I  come  a  suitor  to  your  pard'ning  mercy. 

Fran,  (aside.)  Sue  on,  so  thou  do  after  hear  mj 
suit. 

Franc,  My  brother!  out,  alas !  your  brow  grows 
dark. 
And  threat'ningly  doth  fright  my  scarce-breathed; 

prayer 
Back  to  its  hold  of  silence. 

Fran,  l^ady,  ay. 
Your  brother  hath  offended  'gainst  the  statex 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  9^ 

And  must  abide  the  state's  most  lawful  vengeance; 
Nor  canst  thou  in  thy  sorrow  even  say 
Such  sentence  is  unjust. 

Franc.  I  do,  I  do;  J 
Oh,  vengeance  I  what  hast  thou  to  do  with  justice? 
Most  merciful,  and  most  vindictive,  who 
Hath  call'd  ye  sisters  ;  who  hath  made  ye  kin  ? 
My  liege,  my  liege,  if  you  take  such  vengeance 
Upon  my  brother's  fault,  yourself  do  sin  ; 
By  calling  your's  that  which  is' heaven's  -alone  : 
Butif 'tis  justice  that  hath  sentenc'd  him, 
Hear  .me  :  for  he,  unheard,  hath  been  condemn 'd 
Against  all  justice,  without  any  mercy. 

Fran,  IVIaiden,  thou  plead'st  in  vain. 

Franc.  Oh,  say  not  so  : 
Oh,  merciful  my  lord  !  you  are  a  soldier; 
You  have  won  war's  red  favours  in  the  field, 
And  victory  hath  been  your  handmaiden  : 
Oh  !  think,  if  you  were  thrust  away  for  ever 
Prom  fame  and  glory,  warrior's  light  and  air  ;    _ 
And  left  to  feel  time's  creeping  fingers  chill 
Your  blood  ;  and  from  fame's  blazonry  efi^ace 
Your   youthful    deeds,    which,  like  a  faithlesa 

promise, 
Bloom'd  fair,  but  bore  no  after-fruit — • 

Fran.  Away  1 
Thy  prayer  is  cold  :  hast  thou  no  nearer  theme 
Which,  having  felt  tliyself,  thou   may'st  address. 
More  movingly  unto  my  heart? 

Franc.  None,  none, 
But  what  that  heart  itself  might  whisper  yon. 
Oh,  good  my  liege  !  turn  not  away  from  me  ! 
See,  on  the  earth  I  kneel ;  by  these  swift  tears 
That  witness  my  affliction  ;  by  each  throb 
Of  my  sad  heart ;  by  all  you  love !— * 


60  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

Fran   Ah,  tempter ! 
Say  rather  by  these  orient  pearls,  whose  price 
Would  bribe  the  very  soul  of  justice;  say, 
13y  these  luxuriant  tresses,  which  have  thrown 
Eternal  chains  around  my  heart :    [Franc,  starts  up 
!Nay,  start  not; 

If  thou,  so  soon,  art  weary  of  beseeching. 
Hearken  to  me,  and  I  will  frame  a  suit 
Which  thou  must  hear,  (kneels)  by  the  resistless 

love 
Thou  hast  inspir'd — by  thy  bright  perfections. 
Thy  matchless  beauty  ! — nay,  it  is  in  vain. 
Thou  shalt  not  free  thyself,  till  thou  hast  heard^;. 
Thou  shalt  not  free  thy  brother,  till — 

Franc.  Unhand  me  ! 
Sir,  as  you  are  a  man— 

Enter  the  Queen, 

Queen,  Oh,  excellent! 

Fran,  {starts  up.  )Qovk{\x^\oii  seize  that  woman's 
watchfulness ! 

Queen.  I  fear  me  I  have  marr'd  a  wise  discourse 
Which,  if  I  read  aright  yon  lady's  looks, 
Was  argued  most  persuasively  ;  not  a  word  ! 
!Nay,  then,  your  conference  is   doubtless  ended; 
If  so— 1  have  some  business  with  ihe  King — 

[^^e  Waives  Fran^oise  off. 

Tran.  Then,  madam,  you  must  let  that  business 
rest ; 
For,  look  you  I  have  matters,  which,  though  long; 
IVe  ponder'd  o'er  them,  I've  reserved  till  now. 
Unto  your  private  ear. —  How  many  years 
Longer  am  1  to  live  in  tutelage  ? 
When  will  it  please  your  wisdom  to  resign 
The  oflSce,  which,  self-arrogated,  seems 


FRANCIS  THE  FIBST.  Si 

Daily  to  grow  beyond  that  wisdom's  compass. 
Though  strain'd  unto  its  utmost?  how  long 
Ami  to  wear  the  yoke,  which  eVry  day 
Grows  heavier,  but  less  firm  !  itlougeT  yet. 
Take  this  good  counsel — lighten  it,  or  else 
'Twill  break  and  crush  you,  nay^  ne'er  gaze  on  me 
With  that  fix'd  haughty  stare ;  1  do  not  sleejo — 
'Tis  you  that  dream  ;  full  time  you  were  awaken'd. 

Queen.  What,  thankless  boy !  whose  greatness 
is  the  work 
Of  my  own  hands  ; — this,  to  your  mother,  sir? 

Fran.  1  am  your  King,  madam, your  King, 

your  King  1-- — 

Ay,  start  and  boil  with  passion,  and  turn  pale 
With  rage,  whose  pow'rless  effort  wakes  but  scorn; 
Who  made  you  Queen  of  France?  my  father's  wife 
Was  Duchess  of  ^avoy  and  Angoulenie. 
These  are  your  only  liiles,-«-and  the  rest, 
A  boon,  which  courtesy  hath  lent,  not  given, 
Unto  the  mother  of  tli^  Kine:  of  France  ;— 
'Tis  you  who  shine  from  a  reflected  light ; 
^Tis  you,  who  owe  me,  and  my  royal  state. 
All  that  you  have  of  state  and  of  observance. 
And,  as  you  value  the  faint  shade  of  power 
Which  clings  to  you,  beware  how  it  is  us'd. 
Curb  your  unbounded  pride  and  haughty  spiritj 
Which,  brooking  no  control  itself,  would  make 
Slaves  of  all  else  that  breathe;  and,  mark  me  wel],i 
Slacken  your  leading  strings,  or  else  they  break* 

[exit. 

Queen.  The  hour  is  come  at  last,-^so  long  fore- 
seen,— 
So  long  averted  by  my  anxious  efforts  ! 
JViy  overgrown  power  is  toppling  troiii  its  base,-^— 
Audlike  Si,  ruin'd  tower,  wUose  huge  supporters 


63  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

At  length  decay,  it  nods  unto  its  ruin. 
I  am  undone  !     But,  if  1  needs  must  fall, 
No  rising  foot  shall  tread  upon  pay  neck, 
And  say  I  pav'd  the  way  fur  its  ascension. 
Proud  spirit!  thou,  who  in  the  darkest  hours 
Of  danger  an(|  defeat,  hast  steaded  me, — 
Thou  dauntless  uncontroHM,  and  daring  soul  I 
Who  hast  but  seen  in  all  the  world  a  throne, — ^ 
In  all  mankind,  thine  instruments:  rejoice  ! 
I'll  do  a  deed,  which,  prospering,  shall  place  me 
Beyond  all  power  of  future  storm  or  wreck; 
Or,  if  1  fail,  my  fall  shall  be  like  his. 
That  wotid'rous  mighty  man,  who  overthrew 
The  whole  Philistian  host,-^when  revelry 
Was  turn'd  to  mourning,^— and  the  pond'rous  ruin„ 
AVhich    he  drew  down   on  his  own  head,  over- 
whelmed 
The  power  of  Gath,  when  Gaza  shook  for  fear. 

Enter  Gonzales. 

Come  hither,  sirrah,  now  the  day  is  done, — 
And  night,  with  swarthy  hands,  is  sowing  stars 
In  yonder  sky,— De  Bourbon  is  escap'd; 
Thy  days  are  forfit ;   but  thy  lite  is  now 
More  needlul  to  my  present  purposes. 
ThouVt  free  ! — I've  need  of  thee  ;  live  and  obey, 

i^on,   Madam,  obedience  ever  was  my  life's 
Sole  study  and  attainment. 

Queen,    H  ark  thee,  father ! 
I  have  a  deed  for  thee,  which  may,  perhaps, 
For  a  short  moment,  freeze  thy  startled  blood; 
And  fr«;^htthy  rirmly-seated  heart,  to  beat 
Hurried  and  trembling  summons  in  thy  breast; 
Did'stever  look  upon  the  dead? 

(?ow.  Ay, madam; 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  e^ 

Full  oft ;  and  in  each  calm  or  frightful  guise 
Peath  comes  in, — on  the  bloody  battle  field  ; 
\Vhen  with  each  gush  of  black  and  curdling  life,    . 
A  <5urse  was   uttered,— when   the   prayers   I've 

pour'd. 
Have  been  all  drown'd  by  din  of  clashing  arms ; 
And  shrieks,  and  shouts,  and  loud  artillery, 
That  shook  the  slipp'ry  earth,  all  drunk  with  gore ; 
I've  seen  it  swoH'n  with  subtle  poison,  black, 
And  staring  with  concentrate  agony; 
When  every  vein  hath  started  from  its  bed, 
And  wreath'd,  like  .knoMcd  snakes,  around  the 

brows,         -  ^ 

Which  frantic,  dash'd  themselves  in  tortures  dowa 
Upon  the  earth.     I've  seen  life  float  away 
On  the  faint  sound  of  a  far  tolling  bell ; 
leaving  its  late  warm  tenement  as  fair, 
As  though  t'were  th'  incorruptible  that  lay 
Before  me  ;  and  all  earthly  taint  had  vanished 
With  the  departed  spirit. 

Queen,  Father,  hold ! 
Keturn  to  th'  other- — to  that  StCcond  death,^ 
Most  fearful  in  its  ghastly  agony. 
Come  nearer  to  me ;  did'st  thou  ever — nay 
Put  back  thy  crowl^— 1  fain  would  see  thy  face : 
So ;  didst  thou  ever — thou  look'st  very  pale — 
Artfear'd? 

Gon,  Who  I?  your  highuess  surely  jests! 

Queen.  Did  ever  thine  own  hand-^^thou  under- 
stand'st  me. 

Gon,  1  'gin  to  understand  you, madam;  ay. 
It  has  been  red  with  blood,  with  reeking  life. 

Queen.  Father  I  so  steep  that  hand  for  me  once 
more.  * 

And;  by  my  soul  I  swear,  I  will  reward  thee 


'(ii  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST, 

With  a  cardinars  hat  when  next  Rome's  princes 
meet. 

Gon.   I  pray  you,  on. 
I  know  but  half  my  task. 

Queen,  I  had  forgot;  and  now  methinks  I  feel 
Lightened  of  a  huge  burden,  now  thou  know'st 
My  settled  purpose. — Listen!  there  is  one, 
Whose  envious  beauty  doth  pluck  down  my  powV 
Day  after  day,  with  more  audacious  hand — ^ 
That  woman  ! 

Gon,  Ha  !  a  woman  ! 

Queen.   Well,  how  now  ! 
BU)od  is  but  blood,  and  life  no  more  than  life, 
Be't  cradled  in  however  faff  a  form  ! 
Dost  shrink,  thou  vaunting  caitiff,  from  the  test 
Thine  own  avowal  drew  upon  thee  ?     Mark  me  ! 
If,  ere  two  suns  have  risen  and  have  set, 
Franfoise  de  Foix—- 

Gon,  How  ? 

Queen.  The  young  Lautrec's  sister, 
Count  Laval's  bride. 

Gon,  What!  John  de  Laval's  bride! 
Hell !  what  a  flatsh  of  light  bursts  in  upon  me  ! 

(aside.) 

Queen,  Why  dost  thou  start,  and  look  so  wide 
and  wild. 
And  clench  thy  hands? 

Gon,  So  please  your  grace--^0  pardon  me  !— 
'Twas  pity — sorrow — I— oh  !  how  has  she 
Provoked  your  dreadful  wralh,  that  such  a  doom 
Should  cut  her  young  days  off  thus  suddenly  ? 

Queen,  Content  thee,  that  it  falls  not  on  thy  head. 
And  do  my  bidding,  as  thou  vainest 
That  head[  of  thine.     1  tell  thee  she  must  die  ; 
By  subtle  poison,  or  by  sudden  knife, 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST,  ^ 

T  care  not ;  so  those  eyes  be  closed  for  ever. 
Look,  priest!  thou'rtiree;  but  if,  in  two  more  days, 
The  grave  hide  not  that  woman  from  my  hate. 
She  shall  not  die  the  less  :  and,  by  high  heav'n  I 
Be  thou  i'  ih'  farthest  corner  of  the  earth, 
Thou  shalt  he  draggM  from  hence ;  and  drop  by 

drop. 
Shall  thy  base  blood  assuage  my  fell  revenge! 
1  hink  on  it,  and  resolve — and  so  farewell !     [exit. 
Gon    hejoice,  my  soul !  thy  far  oft'goiil  is  won! 
His  bride, — all  that  he  most  doth  love  and  live 

for,- — 
H  is  hearts  best  hope,— she  shall  be  foul  corruption 
When  next  his  eager  arms  are  spread  to  clasp  her  I 
I'll  do  this  deed,  ere  1  go  mad  for  joy!      [exit. 


SCENE  III~A  GALLERY  IN  THE  PALACE, 

Enter  Tnhoulet,  followed  hij  Fran^oise  de  Foix. 

Franc.  Hold,  hold!  I  do  beseech  thee,  ere  my 
brain 
"Whirl  with  this  agony;  show  me  the  letter. 

2'ru   Nay  but  you  did  refuse  it  some  time  gone; 
V\\  to 
The  King  and  give  it  back. 

Franc,  O  !   if  that  letter 
Tell  of  my  brother's  fate,  as  chance  it  doth ! 
Give  it  me  once  again — or  ere  1  die  ! 

Tri.  Listen  ;  Til  read  thee. 

Franc    Oh  I  no,  no,  no  ! 
(aside)  For  it  the  King  doth  plead  his  love  in  it— ^ 
No,  tear,  but  do  not  open  it,  good  fool ! 

Tri.  I  cannot  read  unless  1  open  it.     Listen — ' 
(reads)  *If  thou  do  not  follow  his  footsteps,  wha 


C(f  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST- 

*  shall  bring  thee  this,  not  only  shall  thy  brother's 
liberty,  but  e'en  his  life  ' — 

Franc,     Oh  gracious  heav'n  ! 
Bis  lite!   Give  me  that  scroll,    [she reads Sf  faints, 

Tri,  Let  me  spell  o'er  this  letter;   tor  the  lady, 
she'll  be  the  better  for  a  little  rest,     (reads.)  *  If 

*  thou  do  not  follow  his  footstep^,  who  shall  bring 
'thee  this/  Marry,  that  means  my  footsteps; 
and  whither  tend  my  footsteps? — Even  to  the 
King's  chamber.  What,  shall  her  brother  die, 
wnless  she  meet  the  King  alone  at  this  dead  hour 
of  night?  I  would  1  had  lost  the  letter!  my  back 
and  the  whip  had  been  acquainted  of  a  sQrety; 
but  that  were  better  than— poor  maiden  !  J3y  my 
wisdom,  then,  I  will  not  lead  h^r  to  the  King! 
ril  run  away,  and  then,  if  I  be  questioned,  I  caa 
swear  she  fell  into  a  swoon  by  the  way,  and  could 
pot  come !  [going — Fran9oise  revivea, 

Ipranc,  Oh,  no^-»Hot  death!  mercy  !  oh,  mercy ! 
spare  him ! 
Where  am  I  ?  Have  I  slept!     Good  Triboulet, 
If  thou  have  aught  of  reason,  lend  it  me. 

2ru  Alack!  poor  thmg,  how  wide  she  talks, 
she's  come 
To  borrow  wisdom  of  a  fool !     Poor  lady ! 

Franc,  Nay,  ^a'Ae  not  on  me,  for  dear  charity! 
But  lead,  and  1  will  follow  to  the  King, — » 
Fall  on  my  knees,  once  more  implore  bis  mercy!— 
1  do  beseech  ihee — Life  is  on  our  haste! 

TrL   How  say  you,  pretty  lady — life  and  no 

more? 
Vranc.    Oh !  1   shall  go  distraught  with  this 
delay. 
See,  to  thine  eves  I  will  address  my  speech, — 
Fot'  wb^t  thoa  look'st  on  that  thou  uaclerst»nd*st« 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  67 

TrL  Ay,  marry,  and  more,  as  I  think,  than 
either  of  us 
Look  on,  do  I  understand. 

Vranc.  These  jewels  are  of  a  surpassing  value, 
Take  ihem,  and  lead  me  to  the  King. 

Tru  What,   at  this  hour?  ^ 

Vranc,  If  not,  my  brother  dies. 

Tri.  Alone? 

Franc.  The  night  grows  pale,  and  the  stars  seem 
To  melt  away,  before  the  burning  breath 
Of  fiery  morn.     If  thou  art  born  of  woman,-^ — 
Lead  to  the  King,    whil'st  I  have  strength  to 
follow  ! 

TrL  Then  heaven  be  with  thee,  lady !  for  I 
can  no  more. 
Follow !  and  may  I  in  this  hour  have  been  a 
greater  fool  than  e'er  I  was  before.         [exeunt, 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT   V. 

SCENE  >.- AN  APARTMENT  IN  THE  CHATEAU 
DE.F01X. 

Fran^oise  h  discovered  sitting,  pale  and  motion' 
less,  by  a  table — Florise  is  kneeling  by  her, 

Tranc,    How  heavily  the   sun  hangs  in   the 
clouds, — 
The  day  will  ne'er  be  done. 

Flo.  Oh,  lady,  thou  hast  sat 
And  watched  the  western  clonds,  day  after  day, 
Grow  crimson  with  the  sun'a  farewell,  and  said^ 


68  FRANCL<5  THE  FIRST: 

."Each  day,  the  night  will  never  come ;  yet  night 
Hath  come  at  last,  and  so  it  will  again. 

Franc,  Will  it  indeed  I  will  the  night  come  afe 
last, 
And  hide  that  burning  sun,  and  shade  my  eyes, 
"Which  ache  with  this  red  light — will  darkness 

come 
At  last? 

Flo.  Sweet  madam,  yes;  and  sleep  will  come: 
Nay,  shake  not  mournfully  your  head  at  me, — ^ 
Your  eyes  are  heavy;  sleep  is  brooding  in  them.. 
Franc.  Hot  tears  have  lain  in  them,  and  made 
them  heavy ; 
But  sleep— oh,  no  !  no,  no!  they  will  not  close  ; 
I  have  a  knawing  pain,  here  at  my  heart; 
Guilt,  thou  liest  heavy,  and  art  hard  to  bear. 
Flo,  Whhat  say  you,  madam,  guilt! 
Franc,  Who  dare  so? 
(starting   vp.)    Twas  pity,- — mercy, — 'twas  not 

guilt !  and  though 
The  world's  fierce  scorn  shall  call  it  infamy, 
1  say  'twas  not!    Speak, — speak, — dost  thou  T* 

Oh !  answer  me! 
Say  was  it  infamy? 

Flo.  Dear  lady,  you  are  ill! 
Some  strange  distemper  fevers  thus  your  brairu 
Let  me  bind  up  these  golden  locks  that  hang 
Disheveird  thus  upon  your  neck. 

Franc.  Out  viper! 
Nor  twine,  nor  braid,  again  shall  ever  bind 
These  locks !     Oh !  rather  tear  them  oflf,  and  cast^ 

them 
Upon  the  common  earth,  and  trample  them, — 
Heap  dust  and  ashes  on  them. — oh,  1  am  mad  I 
Distracted  !  out  alas !  alas  ?  poot  head ! 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  Cd 

Thou  aqhest  for  thy  pillow  in  the  grave,— 

Thy  darksome  couch,- — thy  dreamless,  quiet  bed  ! 

Flo  Let  me  intreat  you  send  for  that  same  monk 
J  told  you  of  this  morn:  he  is  a  leech. 
Learned  in  theory,  and  of  wondrous  skill 
To  heal  all  maladies  of  soul  or  body. 

Fame*  Of  soul-^of  soul  I— 'aye,  so  they'd  have 
us  think : 
Dost  thou  believe  that  the  hard  coin  we  pour 
Into*their  out  stretch'd  hands,  indeed,  buys  pardon 
For  all,  or  any  sin,  we  may  commit? 
Dost  thou  believe  forgiveness  may  be  had 
Thus  easy  cheap  ? 

¥40.  \  do  believe,  indeed, 
Not  all  the  wealth  hid  in  the  womb  of  ocean. 
Can  ransom  sin-r— nothing  but  deep  repentance-— 
Austere  aud  lengthened  penance-^frequent  tears. 

Franc.  Tis  false,  I  know  it — these  do  nought 
avail ; 
To  move  relentless  beav'n,  it  must  be  brib'd 
And  yet — go,  call  this  priest ;  I'll  speak  with  him. 
I  will  cast  off  the  burthen  of  my  shame. 
Or  ere  it  press  me  down  into  the  grave.  \exit, 

Vlo,  Alas,  poor  fiowV,  the  canker's  in  thy  core  I 

JE/i^erGonzales* 
Good  morrow  to  my  reverend  confessor  I 
Gon.  Good  morrow,  maiden  ; 
Where's  thy  lady,  Florise  ? 

F/o.  This  moment,  as  I  think,   gone  to  her 
chamber. 

Gon.  To  sleep,  perchance. 

F/o.  Oh,  father,  would  she  could  ! 
But  there's  a  sleepless  sorrow  at  her  heart, — 
She  hath  not  clos'd  her  eyes  for  many  a  night. 

Gon,  Her  brother,  Lautrec,  for  the  loss  of  Milaa 
"Was  lately  thrust  in  prison. 


70  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

F/o.  Even  so: 
She  often  read  a  scroll  Count Lautrec  sent  her, 
jAnd  wept,  and  read  it  o'er  and  o'er  again  ; 
And  then,  as  though  determin'd  by  its  arguments. 
She  sought  the  king,  to  move  him  to  forgiveness  ; 
Short  space  elapsed  ere  home  she  came  again, 
Thus  broken-hearted,  and,  as  I  do  think, 
Bow'd  to  the  grave  by  some  o'ermastering  sorrow. 
Out  on  my  prating  tongue!   I  had  forgot — 
The  lady  Fran9oise  straight  would  speak  with 
you, 

Gon.  Tell  her  I'll  wait  upon  her  instantly. 

[exit  Florise. 
Strange  !  passing  strange!  I  guess  at  in  vain. 
Lautrec forgiv'n,  and  herself  broken  hearted! 
ril  to  her  straight,  and  from  her  wring  confession 
By  such  keen  torture,  as  designless  looks 
And  careless  words  inflict  on  secret  guilt,  [exit, 

SCENE  II— AN  INNER  COURT  IN  THE  CHATEAU 
I>E  FOIX. 

Enter  Francis  wrapped  hi  a  cloak,  and  Florise. 

F/o.  Then  be  it  even  as  you  will,  sir  stranger, 
Since  you  bring  joyful  tidings  to  my  lady, 
At  sunset  meet  me  here;  when  I  will  bring  you 
"Where  you  shall  see  and  speak  with  her,  fair  sir. 

Fran.  At  sunset  I'll  not  fail :  farewell,  fair  mai- 
den. [Exit  I'lorise. 
They  tell  me  she  is  sunk  in  sorrow, 
Lets  a  consuming  grief  destroy  her  beauty; 
Therefore,  in  this  disguise,  leave  I  the  court. 
To  follow  and  to  claim  her ;  for  though  o'erlhrown, 
If  shame  ami  woe  have  follow'd  her  defeat, 
J  hold  myself  no  lawful  conqueror; 
Sut  one  whose  love,  like  the  fierce  eastern  wind> 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  fl 

Hath  wither'd  that  it  hun^  upon. —But,  pshaw! 

'Tis  idle  all  ;  if  that  her  hand  be  promis'd, 

It  is  not  bound  ;  and  where  it  so,  king's  wills 

Melt  compacts  into  air.     8he  must  be  mine — - 

IVIine  only — mirie  for  ever  !  and,  for  Laval, 

Another  and  a  wealthier  bride,  I  trow. 

Shall  well  repay  him  for  the  one  I've  stolen.  [exiU 

Enter  Gonzales. 
Gow.  'Tis  true,  by  heav'n  !  'tis  as  my   hope 
presag'd,-— 
Her  lips  avow'd  it.     Oh,  then  there  is  torture 
Far  worse  than  death  in  store  for  thee,  Laval. 

Enter  a  Page. 

Page,  Save  you — from  court  a  letter,  reverend 

sir. 
Gon.  Give  it,  and  get  thee  gone, —    [exit  Page. 
'Tis  from  the  queen  ! 

Further  injunctions  to  be  sudden,  doubtless — so  ; 
[Opens  the  letter  and  reads. 

*  That  which  thou  hast  in  hand,  quickly  despatch; 

*  oppotunity  will  play  false.  Laval  is  now  in  France, 

*  and  by  to-morrow  will  have  reached  Chateau  de- 

*  Foix;  therefore,  if  it  is  not  done,  do  it  so  soon  as 

*  ihou  shalt  have  received  this  letter. 

Louisa.* 
To  morrow  !  how  !  why  that  should  be  to-day  ; 
To-day — to-day— ah  !  say  you  so,  indeed  : 
He  could  not  come  at  a  more  welcome  hour. 

[Horns  without. 
Hark !  even  now  the  horn  proclaims  my  triumph! 
The  gates  swing  wide,  the  outer  court-yard  rings 
"With  neighing  steeds,  andjingling  spurs,  and  steps 
TV  hose  haste  doth  tell  of  hot,  impatient  love  ; 
He  stands  upon  the  threshold  of  his  house 
Reeling  with  joy.     Now,  now, — — 


n  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

Enter  Laval  and  attendants. 

Hail,  noble  sir ! 

Lav,  ]  joy  to  see  thee,  yet  I  cannot  now 
Scarce  stay  to  say  as  much.     Where  is  my  love? 

Gon.  The  lady  Francoise,sir,is  in  her  chamber, 

[Laval  is  going. 
I  pray  you  tarry,  good  my  lord,  IVe  much  to  say 
to  you: 

Lav,  Another  time»  good  father. 

Gon,   No  time  so  fitting  as  the  present,  sir. 

Lav.  'Sdeath  !  wouldst  thou  have  me  listen  and 
not  hear? 
Look  on  thee,  and  not  see  thee  ?     Stand  aside, 
Till  ears  and  eyes  have  had  their  fill  ot  her ! 
Tm  blind,  and  deaf>  and  well  nigh  mad  ! 

Gon.  My  lord  ! 
"What  I  would  say  will  bear  no  tarrying. 

Lav.  A  plague  on   thee  !  come  with  me,  then, 
and  thus — 
While  I  do  gaze  on  her,  I'll  hear  thy  tale. 

Gon,  What  IVe  to  say  you'd  rather  hear  alone. 

Lav,  I  tell  thee,  no,  thou  most  vexatious  priest ! 
That  which  I  hear  shall  she  hear  too ;  my  heart. 
And  all  cares  or  wishes,  is  her  own ; 
Knowledge, hopes,  fears,  deseirs — all,  all  archers. 

Gon,  Then  be  it  so — follow  unto  her  chamber ! 

Lav.  Follow !  I  could  not  follow  the  swift  wind! 

Gon,  E'en  as  you  will,  1  do  ;  lead  on,  my  lord ! 


SCENE  III.— AN  APARTMENT  IN  THE  CHATEAU. 
DE-fOIX. 

Enter  Francis  and  Florise. 
Fran.  1  tell  thee,  ere  she  see  the  Count  Laval, 


I  must  inform  her  of  mine  errand. 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  73 

Flo.  Well— 
I  had  forgot,  in  all  tliis  sudden  joy : 
But  see,  behind  the  tapestry,  here,  you  may  < 

Wait  for,  and  speak  with  her. 
Fvan,  1  thank  thee,  maiden, 
Flo,  Farewell,  and  good  success  attend  you,  sir. 

[exit, 
[Francis  conceals  himself  behind  the  tapestry. 

Enter  Frangoise. 

Franc,  Now,  ye  paternal  halls,  that  frown  oft  rae'"^ 
Down,  down,  and  hide  me  in  your  ruin — ha  f 
[As  I^val  and  Gonzales  enier,  Fran^oise  shrieks. 

Lav,  My  bride !  my  beautiful ! 

Gon,  Stand  back,  young  sir  ! 

Lav.  Who  dares  extend  his  ar«ns  'twixt  those 
whom  love 
Hath  bound  ?  whom  holy  wedlock  shall,  ere  long  ! 

Gon,  The  stern  decree  of  the  most  holy  church  : 
Look  on  that  lady,  Count  Laval,  wbo  stands 
Pale  as  a  virgin  rose,  whose  early  bloom 
Hath  not  been  gaz'd  on  yet  by  the  hot  sun ; 
And  fair 

Lav,  Oh,  how  unutterably  fair ! 

Gon,  Seems  not  that  shrinking  flower  the  soul 
of  all 
That  is  most  pure,  as  well  as  beautiful  ? 

Lav,  Peace,  thou  vain  babbler  1  Is  it  unto  mf 
That  thou  art  prating?—-  unto  me,  who  have 
Worshipped  her,  with  a  wild  idolatry, 
Liker  to  madness  than  to  love  ? 

Gon,  Indeed! 
Look  on  her  yet ;  and  say>  if  ever  form 
Show'd  half  so  like  a  breathing  piece  of  marble. 
Oh  well-dissembled  sin !  say,  was  it  thus, 
E 


74  FRANCIS  THE  FIRST. 

Shrinking  and  pale,  thou  stoodst,  when  the  king's 

arms 
Did  clasp  thee,  and  his  hot  lip,  sear'd  from  thine 
Their  oath  to  wed  thy  brother's  friend  ? 

Lav»  Damnation 
Alight  upon  thee,  thou  audacious  monk  ! 
The  blight  thou  brealh'st,  recoil  on  thine  own  head! 
It  hath  no  power  to  touch  the  spotless  fame 
Of  one,  from  whom  thy  cursed  calumnies 
Fly  like  rebounding  shafts ! — Ha !  ha !  ha  !  ha ! 
The  king  !  a  merry  tale  forsooth  ! 

Gon,  Then  we 
Will  laugh  at  it,  ha!  ha! — why  what  care  I  ? 
We  will  bo  merry:  since  thou  art  content 

To  laugh,  and  be  a 

Lav,  Fran9oise — I — I  pray  thee 
Sf)eak  to  me, — smile — speak, — look  on  me,  I  say. 
What,  tears!   what,  wring  thine  hands!  what, 

pale  as  death  ! — 
And  npt  one  word — not  one ! 

Franc,  (ToGon,)  Oh,  deadly  fiend! 
Th  at  hast  buthasten'd  that  which  was  foredoomed. 
( To  Laval.)  My  lord,  ere  I  make  answer  to  thi» 

charge, 
I  have  a  boon  to  crave  of  you — toy  brother — 
Lav.  How  wildly  thine  eye  rolls;  thy  hand  is 
cold 
As  death,  my  fairest  love. 

Franc.  Beseech  you,  sir. 
Unclasp  your  arm ;  where  is  my  brother  ? 

Lav,  Lautrec, 
Ib  Italy,  ere  now  is  well  and  happy. 
Franc.  Thanks,  gentle  heaven !  all  is  not  bitter* 
ness. 
Ib  this  most  bitter  hour.    My  Lord  Lavai, 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  75 

To  you  my  faith  was  plighted,  by  my  brother ; 
That  faith  I  ratified  by  my  own  vow. 

Lav,  The  oath  was  registered  in  highest  heaven. 
Thou'rt  mine ! 

Franc,  To  all  eternity,  Laval. 
If  blood  cannot  efface  that  damning  bond  ; 

[Snatches  his  dagger,  and  stabs  herself, 
*Tis  cancelled,  IVe  struck  home — my  dear,  dear 
brother.  [Dies. 

Lav.  Oh  horrible ! — she's  dead ! 

(Francis  rushes  from  his  concealment 
Fran.  Dead! 
[Laval  draws  his  sword,  and  turns  upon  the  king, 
who  draws  to  defend  himself. 
Lav,  Ha  !  what  fiend  hath  sent  thee  here? 
Down  !  down  to  hell  with  thee,  thou  damn'd  se- 
ducer! 

Enter  Queen,  followed  by  attendants. 

Queen,  Secure  that  madman  ! 
[Part  oj  the  attendants  surround  and  disarm  LavaL 

Queen,  (aside  to  Gon.)  Bravely  done,  indeed! 
I  shall  remember. — (aloud) — How  now,  way  waid 

.  ^y  •' 

How  is't  I  find  thee  here  in  private  broils, 
Whilst  proud  rebellion  triumphs  o'er  the  land  ? 
Bourbon's  in  France  again  !  and  strong  Marseilles 
Beleaguer'd  round  by  Spanish  soldiery. 

Fran.  Peace,  mother,  prithee  peace;  look  ther*, 
look  there  ! 
There  is  a  sight,  that  hath  more  sorrow  in  it 
Than  loss  of  kingdoms,  empires,  or  the  world  ! 
There  lies  the  fairest  lily  of  the  land. 
Untimely  broken  from  its  stem  to  wither! 

[Going  towards  the  boify. 

Lav*  {breaks from  the  attendants.)  Stand  back 


76  FRANCIS  THE  HRST. 

King  Francis  !  lay  not  e'en  a  finger 
On  thi^  poor  wench,  which  death  hath  sanctified  ! 
This  soulless  frame  of  what  was  onee  my  love  I 
Oh  \  thou  pale  flower,  that  in  death's  icy  grasp 
Dost  lie,  making  the  dissolution  that  we  dread. 
Look  fair ! — farewell !  forever,  and  forever  ! 
Thou  shouldst  have  been  the  glad  crown  of  my 

youth, 
Maturer  life's  fruitful  and  fond  companion, — 
Dreary  old  age's  shelter. 
Gon.  Tears,  my  lord  ? 

LoAj.  Ay,  tears,  thou  busy  mischief;  get  thee 
hence  ! 
Away !  who  sent  for  thee  ?  who  bade  thee  pour 
The  venom  of  thy  tongtie  into  my  wounds: 
What  seek'st  thou  here  ? 

Gon.  To  s^e  thee  weep,  Laval ! 
And  I  am  satisfied !  look  on  me,  boy  ! 
Dost  know  Garcia — first  scion  of  a  house 
Whose  kindred  shoots,  by  thee  were  all  cut  down? 
Lav.  For  dead  I  left  thee  on  Marignan  plain  ! 
Art  thou  from  thence  arisen— or  from  hell — 
To  wreak  such  ruin  on  me  ? 

Gon,  They  die  not 
Who  have  the  work  I  had  on  hand  iinfinish'd ; 
The  spirit  would  not  from  its  fleshly  house. 
In  which  thy  sword  so  many  outlets  made, 
Ere  it  had  seen  its  full  revenge  fulfilled. 
Lav.    Revenge! — for  what?— ^vherefore!  dost 

thou  pursue  me  ? 
Gon*  Look  on  thy  bride !  look  on  that  faded 
thing ! 
As  fair  a  flower  once  grew  within  my  house, 
As  young,  as  lovely,  and  as  dearly  lov'd.— 
The  only  4a«ghter  of  ray  father  s  house. 


FRANCIS  THE  FII^ST.  77 

She  was  the  centre  of  our  soul's  affections. 
Thy  father,  sir — now  mark  I  for  'tis  the  point 
And  moral  of  my  tale — thy  father,  then. 
Was,  by  my  sire,  in  war  ta'en  prisoner ; — 
Wounded  almost  to  death,  he  brought  him  home, 
Shelter'd  him, — cherished  him, — and  with  a  care 
Most  like  a  brother's,  watch'd  his  bed  of  sickness, 
Till  ruddy  health  once  more  through  all  his  veins 
Gent  life's  warm  stream  in  strong  returning  tide. 
How  think  ye  he  repaid  my  father's  love? 
From  her  dear  house  he  lur'd  my  sister  forth. 
And  having  robb'd  her  of  her  treasured  honour, 
Cast  her  away,  detil'd  I — she  died  !  she  died  I 
Upon  the  threshold  of  that  house,  from  which 
My  father  spurn'd  her!  and  over  her  palecorSt^ 
I  swore  to  haunt,  through  life,  her  ravisher; 
Till  due  and  deep  atonement  had  been  made-^ 
Honour  for  honour  stolen — blood  for  blood ! 

Lav,  These  were  my  father's  injuries, — not  mine, 
Remorseless  fiend ! 

Gon,  Thy  father  died  in  battle ; 
And  as  his  lands,  and  titles,  at  his  death, 
Devolv'd  on  thee,  on  thee  devolv'd  the  treasure 
Df  my  dear  hate  I — I  have  had  such  revenge  I 
Such  horrible  revenge  I — thy  life, thy  honour, 
W^re  all  too  little ! — I  have  had  thy  tears  ! 
Kings,  the  earth's  mightiest  potentates,  have  been 
Sly  tools  and  instruments  1  yon  haughty  madam, 
A^id  your  ambition, — yonder  headstrong  boy, 
And  his  mad  'love, — all,  all  beneath  my  feet, 
And  slaves  unto  my  will  and  deadly  purpose. 
Qtieen,  Such  glorious  triumphs  should  be  short 
lived ; — ho ! 
Lead  eut  that  man  to  instant  death. 

Gon,  Without  confession,  madam,  shall  I  go? 


n  FRANCIS  TOE  FIRST. 

Shall  not  the  world  know  on  what  serviced 
Lousia  of  Savoy  hastens  such  guerdon  ? 
Queen.  Am  I  obey'd  ?  away  with  him  I 
Frcn»  Your  pardon  ; — 
If  he  has  aught  to  speak  before  he  dies. 
Let  him  unfold  ;  it  is  our  pleasure  so ! 

Gon,  You  did  not  deal  so  hardly  with  the  soal 
Of  Bourbon^  when  you  sent  me  to  his  cell ; 
But  let  that  pass : — King  Francis,  mark  me  well 
I  was,  by  yonder  lady,  made  the  bearer 
Of  am'rous  overtures  unto  De  Bourbon, 
Which  he  with  scorn  flung  back  ;  else  trust  me,  sir. 
You  had  not  stood  so  safely  on  your  throne 
As  now  you  stand. 
So  much  for  De  Bourbon.     Now, 
Look  on  the  prostrate  form  of  this  fair  creature  I 
"Why,  how  now,  madam,  do  you  blanch  and  start? 
YouVe  somewhat  pale  !  fie,  fie  !  what  matters  it, 
'  Blood  is  but  bloodt  and  life  no  more  than  life, 
JSe*t  cradled  in  however  fair  a  form,' 
Tst  not  well  done  I  ha  I  well  and  suddenly  ? 
Are  you  not  satisfied  ? 

Queen,  Thou  lying  devil  I 

Gon.  Dar'st  thou  deny  the  part  thou  hast  in  this? 

Queen,  Dar'st  thou  to  me  ?    Ay,  reptile  1 

Gon.  Here  I  look  here  ! — (Shows  her  letter.) 

Queen.  Ha ! 

Crow,  Hast  thou^found  thy  master  spirit,  Queen  I 
Our  wits  have  grappled  hard  for  many  a  day. 
What !  route  at  last?  or  hast  some  quaint  devio«f 

Queen.  No !  Hell  has  conquer'd  me  ! 

Fran.  Give  me  that  scroll — hast  thou  taid  all, 
Garcia  I 

Gon.  Ay,  all!  Fair  madam,  fare  ye  well  awhile: 
And  for  my  death,  I  thank  you  from  my  iohI. 


FRANCIS  THE  FIRST.  n 

For  after  the  rich  cup  I've  drain'd  this  hour. 
The  rest  were  tasteless,  stale,  and  wearisome. 
Life  had  no  aina,  or  joy,  or  end,  save  vengeance  j 
Vengeance  is  satisfied,  so  farewell  life, 

[exit  guarded 
Fran,     (reads  the  letter,)    Oh!  mother!  guilt 
hath  taken  from  thy  lips 
AH  proud  repelling  answer.  Give  me  that  ring, — 
Strip  me  the  diadem  from  off  thy  brows, — 
-And  bid  a  long  farewell  to  vanity! 
For  in  a  holy  nunnery  immured, 
Thou  shalt  have  leisure  to  make  peace  with  heav'a 
And  mourn  i'  the  shade  of  solitude  thy  errora, — 
(To  the  body,) — For  thee,  thou  lovely  dust,  all 

circumstance 
That  can  gild  death,  shall  wait  thee  to  thy  grate  ! 
Thou  shalt  lie  with  the  royal  and  the  proud ; 
And  marble  by  the  dexf  rous  chisel  taught, 
Shall  learn  to  mourn  tjiiy  hapless  fortunes. 

Lav.  No! 
Ye  shall  not  bear  her  to  your  receptacles; 
]SI or  raise  a  monument  for  busy  eyes 
To  stare  upon.     No  hand,  in  future  days^ 
Shall  point  to  her  last  home;  no  voice  shall  crj 
'  There  lies  King  Francis'  paramour! '   In  life. 
Thou  didst  despoil  me  of  her;   in  death,  she'e 

mine! 
1*11  give  her  that,  my  love  doth  tell  me  best 
Fits  with  her  fate — an  honourable  grave ; 
There  'mong  our  tombs  ancestral  shall  she  reet, 
Withont  an  epitaph,  except  my  tears. 

THE  END 


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